


We Start and End with Family

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after losing his brother, Dean has settled down and started a new family, but he’s never forgotten the family he left behind and his past has not forgotten him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Наше начало и конец в семье](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339033) by [Araphel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araphel/pseuds/Araphel)



> Warnings: Violence, ritual abuse and nudity with children present, but not involved. Distorted uses of biblical quotes/Christian doctrine/ceremony. 
> 
> Author’s Note: Diverges from canon about two minutes before the end of ‘Swan Song’ (no Sam spying on Dean and Lisa). This story was completed before the canon reveal of soulless Sam so took a different route with Sam's issues and Sam here is with soul. 
> 
> Written for spn_reversebang. The beautiful art featured along with this story was illustrated by puguita, whose art prompt and bountiful creativity inspired the story. All her illustrations can be found together at the art master post - http://puguita.livejournal.com/22407.html
> 
> A million worlds of thanks to the truly awesome agent_jl36 and ebony_quill for their scene edits and the tremendously kind durtydeefla82 for taking the time to do a read through and edits for the whole shebang on extremely short notice.
> 
>  
> 
> ~ Other things may change us, but we start and end with family. ~

A shiver trembled through Dean’s naked body. While he struggled to remain on his hands and knees his lungs fought to hack the last of the salty, holy water from his lungs. The abdominal muscle spasms shot white hot pain through his bruised ribs. The stinging gashes crisscrossing his body seeped blood, staining the water that beaded from his skin and pooled on the concrete beneath him.

“Kneel.”

While Dean’s ears heard the priest’s coolly spoken order, his brain had already left the party. At some point most of the spectators had too. Dean clung to the hope that the higher-ups were opting for a private ceremony because this was nothing but a crapshoot.

Super thought, but if wishes were horses his family would still be whole. He wasn’t risking the world on off chance that his luck had suddenly taken a turn for good.

A sharp kick from behind buckled his knees. He hissed as the wounds on the back of his thighs slapped hard against the ones on his calves. A warm hand set against the chilled skin of his chest to push his torso upright.

“With this anointing of holy oil your mark as the betrayer is spiritually nullified.”

Dean blinked his irritated eyes as the now cool, moist hand moved to his shoulder. Tilting his head, he watched the fingers curl around the handprint branded there. The grace of an angel had seared the mark into his soul and this monster thought he could purify that.

“You really got no clue what a crazy son of a bitch you are,” Dean rasped.

“And you no concept of the damage you have done.”

With a hitched breath, Dean closed his eyes before whispering, “You’d be surprised.”

The priest crouched beside him. Dean didn’t bother to raise his head. When he opened his eyes he found himself staring at the bright crimson stains of his blood against the stark white of the priest’s alb.

“Then you acknowledge this gift. Despite your unfathomable sins you are being allowed to make amends. Through this sacrifice you will be granted eternal life.” 

“God, I hope not.”

Though Dean barely breathed the sincerely spoken words the priest leaned close enough to hear. The man’s face twisted in condemnation as if Dean gave a rat’s ass.

“Your sacrilegious tongue is not required for this ceremony.” The priest poured more oil onto his palm and slapped his hand harshly against Dean’s cheek. Roughly he smeared the foul smelling oil up over Dean’s forehead and back into his hair.

“Make the cuts slowly,” the priest told the other men as he stood. Dean caught the flash off a dagger’s blade being exchanged. “His heart must remain beating until the child arrives.”

Dean had already overheard enough earlier to know that he had to survive until the end of the ritual or these bastards could spill all the Winchester blood they wanted and Michael still wouldn’t be popping out of the box. There had only been two options – stop it from starting or end it himself.

The only exit was sealed. There were at least fifty fanatics praying outside even if he could bust out. Beneath the priest’s arm Dean saw the gold etched binding of a familiar, heavy, leather book. It was the real deal and this was really it.

His heart raced as he took in his last few breaths of the basement’s stale air. The holy oil poured over the symbol etched floor was lit. The fire raced to close the circle that now separated him from the priest but left two men standing beside him. He should have killed the bastards when he had the chance. There were a lot of things he should have done.

Latin began to flow from the priest’s tongue. The sharp bite of steel cut into the flesh of Dean’s arm. He grunted and forced himself to wait, shaking with the effort of remaining still. Another cut and he choked back a sob. It wasn’t the burning of the wounds that left tears rimming his eyes.

They wanted it to be his baby girl beneath the blade. He didn’t know where any of the others were, if they were even alive. Silently he prayed that there was still a family for him to leave behind.

The slick blade touched against his chest. Before the cut slid through his skin, Dean’s fingers gripped the hand that held the blade. For a fraction of a second Dean stared into the empty eyes of the wielder, a smirk crossed his lips before he drove the blade into his own chest. At least he’d had a family to lose.

~~~ 

_15 Hours Earlier  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

The words blurred together. It took five minutes for Dean’s half asleep brain to process that the text wasn’t in English. Another five for him to accept that no matter how long he stared at the letters they wouldn’t rearrange themselves into anything he could read. For his effort he was left with a pounding headache and no relief for the ever-present ache in his heart.

He was willing to bet his truck that the words scribed on the smooth velum was Latin. Sam could have read it or at least found some geek site on his computer to translate it. Unless Dean could find someone who wasn’t Bobby to read it for him he was going to be short a grand and no closer to unlocking his brother from Lucifer’s cage.

If he had to break down and go to Bobby he’d get himself ripped a new one, if he had to go on a road trip to find a professor to translate it, Lisa would tear him a new one. It wasn’t that he was afraid of either of them, just of disappointing them.

Getting a hold of the original copy of a medieval satanic text was all good in theory, but next time he would have to hold out for the secret decoder ring. The thing was, after two years of reading every useless piece of crap he could find he was running out of sources to check. As long as he didn’t know what this book said he could still pretend it held the answer.

After rubbing his hand over his face, Dean blinked his blurry eyes and leaned back in the car seat. He reached for his thermos, unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of cooling black coffee that was barely enough to keep him conscious.

Large raindrops pelted down like thunder against the roof of the truck’s cab. It was nearly loud enough to overpower the squeaking of his mud caked boots over the all weather floor mats while his legs shifted uneasily. The water washed down the windshield in sheets so thick Dean could barely make out the rest of the construction crew still stuck out in the rain.

He would gloat over his perfectly timed lunch break if he didn’t feel guilty as hell for being the only semi-dry guy here. That and his stomach was so twisted in knots he couldn’t even think about eating the sandwich Ben had packed for him.

With the weather begging for building to be done by cubits Dean struggled to resist the urge to call Bobby with a big, fat ‘I told you so’. Despite what everyone kept telling him, Dean knew he wasn’t crazy. Something more than just storm clouds was brewing on the horizon.

Absently Dean ran his thumb over the polished white gold of his wedding band. They’d stopped the apocalypse. As much as he’d like to think that qualified him to kick the ass of anything that came his way, this wasn’t about saving the world, this was about protecting his family and in that capacity he had failed each and every time. It should be Sam wearing the ring, and him locked in the cage, but Dean had tried to make that happen and the world wouldn’t have it.

Bobby had put him on lockdown, had dragged Lisa and Ben into the intervention. Dean hadn’t been left any choice but to own up to another failure. At least that was what his mouth had said. In reality he hadn’t cashed in his chips yet, but everything had changed and his old leap without looking approach didn’t cut it anymore.

A thud at the passenger side window had Dean nearly spilling coffee over the 15th century book still laid open on his lap. Running on raw nerves and no sleep, he fumbled for the gun tucked beneath his seat. His hand had just tightened around the pistol’s handle when Sid jerked open the door.

Dean released the weapon before it was brought into view and sat bolt upright in his seat. Sid climbed in beside him while Dean slammed the book closed.

With a heavy sigh of relief, Sid ran a hand through his sopping wet hair. “What you reading?”

“Uh...just an old Chilton repair manual.” Sid raised a brow as Dean shoved the gold leaf detailed, leather-bound book under the bench seat. “Really old...like first addition. I collect old manuals.”

“Really? I did not know that. You are a man of ever unfolding mystery.” Sid gave the binding of the book another contemplative look. “You know, I might have some in my garage. Not like that, but...yeah.”

“Awesome.” Dean turned in his seat to stare at Sid. “Did you need something?”

“Your lunch break is officially over.”

With a furrowed brow Dean pulled up the sleeve of his Carhartt jacket and glanced to his watch. It wasn’t like Sid to play break nazis and Dean still had a good five minutes left by the clock.

Dean gave a shrug. “Yeah, okay.” He grabbed his lunch sack and tossed it to Sid. “You better finish this for me.”

Before Dean could open the door Sid’s hand clutched his bicep. Every muscle in Dean’s body went rigid. He shot a look over his shoulder expecting Sid’s eyes to shine back black, if not yellow. At the sight of the purely human eyes of his friend, Dean forced himself to relax.

“Oh God, don’t go out there,” Sid said, “not without a scuba suit.” Dean settled back against his seat while Sid started to rummage through Dean’s lunch sack. “I mean they’re calling it for today. Good men are literally drowning out there. I’m telling you, I’ve never seen a storm like this.”

Dean took in an uneasy breath. “Yeah...it’s been a while.”

~~~

Whether it was thanks to the howling abyss of Lucifer’s cage or the last two years of solitude, Sam had come to crave the quiet. Not literal quietness. Nearly every waking hour he spent hunting, fighting, killing. Yet in the midst of that struggle it was the quiet of not having to explain himself, of not having to be okay.

He couldn’t feel a damn thing. Once Dean had wished for that apparent gift, to be free of the pain of hell, free of the guilt. To simply feel nothing. It wasn’t what it was cracked up to be, but Sam was far from complaining. 

Life had become a series of acts, not for penance or to help. It wasn’t about saving people anymore. He did what needed to be done and the action was enough. It was something to do, something so instinctual and basic he could become lost in it. It was something that let him forget. By now he couldn’t even remember what he had been trying to forget.

It was impossible to forget the icy sensation of being a bystander in his own body while his fists beat his willing brother half to death. He could never forget the all-consuming fires that charred away layer after layer. There was no relief from the silence of waking alone and knowing that would never change.

Whatever it was he had forgotten, it made it bearable to wake up in the morning and do it all over again. It was good enough. In this moment he simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Sam’s boots splashed through the flowing stream the now empty sidewalk had become. He barely noticed the water splattering up to soak the legs of his jeans. With a swipe of his hand he brushed back his dripping bangs and stepped into Hansen’s Rare Book Treasury. The sharp chime of a bell announced his presence.

Inside it was the type of high-end antique store that made mothers tremble in fear at the thought of bringing their children inside. While books were the focus, the ornate reading tables were loaded with obscure breakables from all across the globe. The store was small and crammed to capacity. Even Sam had to maneuver carefully through the tight aisles.

He took in a heavy breath of the musty air that smelled of research and knowledge. Each book was meticulously aligned on the shelves with carefully hand written, yellowed signs marking each category. Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony played softly over the store’s speakers.

“Can I help you?”

The elderly man wore glasses with lenses thick enough to be used for hockey pucks and a dingy corduroy suit older than Sam. The few strands of hair he still had were painstakingly combed over and his eyes were evaluating.

“Gregory Hansen?” Sam asked. “I called yesterday. You have a book reserved for me, Carmenum Regnum Daemonis.”

The hunched over man waddled behind the counter. He pulled out a notebook and flipped through the pages. After making some disapproving noises to himself he looked up. His expression shifted from critical to awkward.

“Sam, yes?” Sam gave a less than patient nod. “So, it would seem that you didn’t get my message.”

Gregory fidgeted with his pen as Sam stalked towards the counter. “Tell me you still have the book.”

“Well, er...not exactly. I-I, however, do have some other, lovely first additions from the same time period. I think you will find their quality to be quite astounding...superior in fact.”

Over the phone Gregory had droned on about the physical beauty of the book Sam had driven over two states to retrieve. In the hands of a collector the book was nothing more than an art piece. In the wrong hands it was an extremely dangerous text and rumor had it that a fringe group was trying to track it down.

“What part of hold the book was unclear?” Sam asked.

“You were outbid.” Gregory pushed up his glasses, ducked out from behind the counter and scurried towards the glass case at the back of the store. He fumbled to pull a small set of keys from his overly tight pant pocket and jimmied the key into the lock on the case. “Now if you’ll just let me show you...”

Sam came up from behind to loom over the relatively tiny old man. “Who did you sell the book to?”

“I couldn’t possibly share that information with you even if I knew.” 

With movements so quick a demon would have struggled to keep up, Sam grabbed the lapels of Gregory’s suit and shoved him back against the glass. The keys clattered to the floor while the shop owner’s eyes grew wide with panic. 

“I-I don’t know,” Gregory insisted. “I really don’t. He paid cash.”

“Five hundred in cash?”

“One thousand.”

Sam raised his brows. It wasn’t weird that someone would pay twice the listed amount for this particular book. What was off was that the ones after it had paid at all. He released his grip on the terrified man. It wasn’t like Gregory could outrun him.

“Did he say what he was going to do with it?” Sam asked.

“No. The boy was simply quite insistent on needing it.” Gregory busied himself with straightening the folds of his suit. “I really had no idea that your age group possessed such a fierce passion for ancient texts. It’s apparently quite the untapped market.”

While the old man babbled, Sam looked past him. “Is that on?”

Gregory followed Sam’s eyes to the wall mounted security camera and gave an apprehensive nod. “Yes, but I assure you, I won’t report you if you just leave.”

“Show me the tapes.”

Gregory opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it after meeting Sam’s eyes. “Right this way.”

For Sam it was a few short strides to the backroom door. The front of the shop was downright roomy compared to what was behind the scenes. Gregory wove easily through the mess while Sam barely fit. As he walked he had to catch several unsteady stacks of books to avoid them toppling around him.

In the back corner was a dusty stack of VHS tapes and a tiny television that was probably old enough to be a collectible in its own right. Boxes were mounded on top of it and more stacks of books leaned precariously against it. Sam’s large frame could barely squirm past the shelves and boxes to get a clear view of the screen.

Despite the apparent chaos Gregory moved as if everything was immaculately organized and without having to be told brought up yesterday’s security camera footage. After some fast-forwarding, he stepped aside so that Sam could see the television.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for.”

While the details on the screen weren’t clear, every movement of the man entering the shop screamed of uncertainty. The demeanor was strange enough for someone just walking into a bookstore, but Sam was too lost in the sense of familiarity to notice. The denial he clung tenaciously to was torn away when the man walked directly in front of the camera. The grainy black and white image couldn’t disguise that the man on the screen was his brother.

On one level it was unquestionably Dean and on another Sam didn’t recognize the man. Dean’s old leather jacket, layered flannel and worn jeans were replaced with a work coat, heavy pants and a t-shirt. His confident swagger had surrendered to reluctance and uncertainty. He was worried and was doing a crappy job of hiding it. 

Sam was struck with how long it had been since he had last seen Dean. He’d left his brother broken and bloody beside the Impala. In Sam’s mind Dean had remained frozen there.

But he knew that wasn’t true. Dean had survived, moved on, and as far as Sam knew, Dean had kept his promise. Ask any hunter and it was as if Dean had dropped off the face of the planet. Sam had assumed it meant that Dean was retired and had taken it as good news.

There was no sound on the tape but by Dean’s gestures he was negotiating with Gregory and not with his usual ease that would have gotten him the book for the original five hundred. He was desperate, even the stranger behind the counter could see it.

When he leaned in closer Sam could just make out that Dean was talking on his cell phone while trying to close the deal. Without hanging up, Dean pulled out a wad of bills. He made a sorry attempt at counting them, slammed them on the counter and left with the book. Sam didn’t need sound on the tape or to see Dean’s lips to hear his brother’s snide ‘keep the change’.

Even when the frame was empty Sam continued to stare at the screen. While he was used to feeling numb inside, his body now felt the same.

“Now you know everything I know.”

Gregory’s words shocked Sam back to the moment. “Yeah,” Sam replied. “Sorry for the trouble.”

He barely muttered the words as he ejected the tape from the VCR. Without so much as another glance to Gregory, Sam took both the tape of Dean and the current day’s tape. His body left the shop on autopilot.

There was no good reason for Dean to be anywhere near that book let alone desperate to get a hold of it. For the first time in a long time Sam felt something. It was a sickening sensation, the old fear that his brother was heading for trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean hid in the truck outside the house. His home. That reality still hadn’t sunk in and part of him was afraid to let it. If he looked too hard he might wake to realize it had only been a dream. That and thinking about his proverbial white picket fence never failed to make him sick with guilt. His home didn’t have Sam in it. Saving his brother wasn’t even at the forefront of his mind.

The book peeked up at him from beneath the seat. The rain hadn’t let up any more than his anxiety had. Until the downpour ceased there was no way to get the book inside without trashing it. At least stashed away in a pickup truck was the last place anyone would look for it.

Next week he would work on getting a translation. Some big brother he was. Sure, he had the luxury of saying this week wasn’t good for him. He wasn’t the one enduring hours of unthinkable tortures with every click of the second hand. Even if it felt like he was, even if he wished he was.

With a clenched jaw Dean tugged off his work boots and slipped into a pair that wasn’t heavy with muck. He grabbed the rolled up throw rug from the seat beside him and made the dash from the truck to the house. By the time he hit the front steps his jeans were damp and water trickled down his neck into the collar of his coat, sending a shiver down his spine.

Before he had the house key out of his pocket the door flew open. It was his girls, not an apocalyptic threat, waiting for him at the threshold. Lisa’s eyes lingered on his hand long enough to say she had seen the tightening of his fist. Staring past her, he shrugged off his jacket and leaned the rug in the corner behind the door.

“You’re home early,” Lisa said. “Everything okay?”

“It is now.”

A weak smirk accompanied his words. He leaned forward to capture her lips, his arm snaking around her waist to draw her in. He needed to feel that she was still here, that they both were. While he held her against him, Dean’s free hand went to his baby girl.

Mary rested contently against her mom’s shoulder. When she looked up her bright blue eyes were heavy with sleep. His hand stroked over her wisps of blond hair. As usual, Mary played it cool, trying to bashfully hide her face in Lisa’s blouse.

His finger brushed against Mary’s partially hidden cheek. She was waking up and squealed with glee, her uncoordinated hands reaching for Dean. Taking her up on the invitation, Dean lifted Mary from Lisa’s shoulder and cradled her in his arms.

“How’s she doing?” he asked.

“Sleeping better than you.” Dean chose to only hear the jibe in Lisa’s words and ignored the obvious concern. “Is your new hobby interior decorating?”

Dean followed her eyes to the rug. “You said the floor in Mary’s nursery makes your feet cold.”

“And you told me that’s why God invented socks.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a jerk and I’m saying I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t say you were a jerk, I said you were being a jerk. There’s a difference and you missed my point.” Lisa ran her hand over his tensed bicep as he held Mary protectively against his chest. “I’m worried about you.”

“Me?” Dean scoffed. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“All right, but we need to talk upstairs.”

Dean couldn’t help but look guilty. While Lisa’s tone was neutral her eyes said he’d screwed up again, not that he was about to get lucky. Jacking things up was his specialty. He didn’t have a clue which thing she was rightfully pissed about this time.

When Lisa strode into the kitchen Dean followed a couple of steps behind. Ben sat at the homework cluttered kitchen table glaring at a worksheet. When Dean and Lisa walked in the boy looked up with hopeful eyes and pulled one of his headphones out of his ear.

“Ben, I need you to watch Mary for a few minutes,” Lisa said.

At that Ben gave a huff and let his pencil drop noisily onto his textbook. Lisa’s eyes and body language screamed of disapproval. She was a damn Jedi Master at silent chastising. Those mom eyes never failed to scare the crap out of Dean though Ben was a braver man than him. 

While Dean got that the kid’s attitude sucked, Ben was justified. Homework for Dean had meant useless attempts at beating his way through assignments while his main focus had to be watching Sam. When he was older it meant beating through Sam’s homework. By the time Sam was old enough to watch himself and do his own work Dean had long ago given up on the whole school thing.

That was what he’d had to do and he was good with it. There hadn’t been another option for him, but things were different for Ben. Dean was going to make sure they stayed that way. He stepped in before Ben could say anything that would force Dean to back Lisa’s call.

“I’d rather hang on to her.” Mary’s overly enthusiastic grin was infectious enough to draw a soft smile even to Dean’s lips. “Been missing my little sweetheart.”

Ben made a face that Lisa didn’t see, but Dean couldn’t miss. It was the face Sammy had always made when Dad had said something that hurt. Apparently Dean could find as many ways to screw up being a father as he could being a brother. He shifted Mary into one arm and walked around the table to give Ben’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Almost as much as I missed my favorite son,” Dean teased. Ben’s eyes remained fixed on his homework while he pretended he wasn’t on the verge of smiling. “We still on for dinner?”

When Ben’s head shot up, a genuine grin spread across the boy’s face. “You remembered?”

“Of course I remembered, kiddo.” Dean patted his back. “Now finish up that homework and we’ll get started.”

The smile on Dean’s lips dissolved the instant he turned away to follow Lisa from the kitchen. They were part way up the stairs when she leaned against him and whispered, "Ben can watch her.”

“And he could crawl across broken glass, but that doesn’t mean he should have to.”

Lisa rolled her eyes and followed after Dean as he headed the rest of the way up the steps. “I don’t see the comparison.”

“You wouldn’t.” His tone wasn’t spiteful, just honest. There was no way she could know and he couldn’t make her see it. He didn’t even want to.

“Meaning?”

“Nothing.” Dean shrugged. “Give the kid a break. Mary isn’t his baby - she’s ours.”

“As the one who carried her for nine months, I kinda noticed, but he is her big brother and it really wouldn’t kill him to step up.”

Part way down the hall Dean spun on his heels to face her. “You’re gonna tell me about being a big brother? ‘Cause I could write the freakin’ book and let me tell you, it blows. Ben doesn’t have to do a damn thing with Mary. He doesn’t have to raise...” He shook his head. “Just let him be a kid while he can.”

The argument he expected didn’t come. Instead Lisa gave his arm a gentle squeeze and followed up with a soft kiss to his lips. He pulled back, confusion contorting his features. Mary fussing softly in his arms brought him back.

When he joined Lisa in the bedroom she was digging through the top drawer of the dresser. “I found this under your pillow,” she said.

After pushing some socks aside, she turned back to him with the Colt. If not for the awkward way she held the revolver in her hand Dean would have taken her down. He forced his expression to shift from edgy to sheepish.

“Wow. Would you look at that,” Dean said with poorly feigned surprise. “Sometimes the tooth fairy leaves the damnedest things. You know, he’s way more of a freak than people give him credit for.” No longer able to keep up the sarcasm, his eyes moved away from Lisa to seek a distraction from Mary. “Why exactly were you under my pillow?”

“I was changing the sheets. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. I guess people do that.”

Or so it seemed. She probably did it all the time, but it had never occurred to Dean. This was the first time he’d lived in one place long enough for the sheets to need changing.

Mary squiggled in his arms, her tiny hand stretching for the dull glint of the revolver. Dean’s hand snatched the Colt from Lisa. Without looking back to her he shoved it into the waistband of his jeans. He bounced Mary in his arms while he walked over to the bed and grabbed her favorite teddy bear.

“Here comes Mr. Stitches,” Dean teased as he touched the bear’s nose to Mary’s. She giggled in delight, holding her arms out for the bear. “Seriously, he’s more your type.”

While he pretended to focus on playing with Mary, Lisa stood beside him. Her arms rested across her chest and her eyes drilled through him like laser beams.

“Dean, if you want to start an antique gun collection, that’s great. Really. I meant it when I said you need a hobby, but if you’re planning on storing the collection in our bed we’re gonna have a problem. I let Mary play here and Ben...”

“I know. I didn’t think...I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad. I just want you to tell me what’s going on.” Lisa grasped his hand. He squeezed it back, rubbing his thumb against the softness of her skin. “The nightmares are back aren’t they?”

Dean’s closed his eyes and shook his head. “No.”

“Believe it or not, the shotgun under the bed, I get. But, Dean, you’re sleeping with a loaded gun under your pillow and that’s freaking me out. You’re not...”

“No!” Mary’s overly expressive eyes grew wide at his tone. Dean paced away from Lisa, rocking Mary gently as he walked. “It’s just old habit. Some kids have blankees.”

“You had a gun. Okay, I get that, but why now? I thought we were out of those old habits.”

“We were...are...” A frustrated sigh escaped through his gritted teeth. He turned away before continuing. “Maybe I’ve been having some dreams, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I know, but you don’t have to do this strong, silent thing. You aren’t sleeping, you’ll only leave the house for work or Ben’s baseball games and you’re drinking again.”

At that Dean shot a look over his shoulder. He was admittedly hitting the bottle harder than he had any right to be. It was the only thing that dulled the razor edge of worry enough to keep him sane. While he wasn’t denying it, he didn’t get how Lisa knew. He’d been keeping the liquor consumption to the late hours.

“Ben saw the bottles when he took out the recyclables. He’s worried too. Dean, if you need to talk...”

“I’m not relapsing.” Lisa walked around so that she could see his face. Reluctantly Dean met her eyes. “Seriously, I’m not. It’s been a rough week is all.”

“It’s Monday. This isn’t just about dreams, is it?”

“Lisa, nothing’s going to happen to you on my watch.” His hand cupped Mary’s head as if his hold could somehow keep the world at bay. “Not to any of you.”

“I know that, we all know that. Please just tell me what’s going on with you.”

Dean hesitated before sitting on the bed and laying Mary on his lap. The trust in her eyes was unconditional as she gazed up at him. It was bad enough that he knew he didn’t deserve it, worse that he knew what the world would do with that trust.

By the time he spoke his eyes were mapping the wood grain of the floorboards. “Mary is gonna be six months in a few days.”

The mattress shifted as Lisa settled down beside him. “And that’s bad?”

“No...yeah. I don’t know.” Dean ran an agitated hand over his hair. “The night Sam turned six months...it’s when the demon came.”

“The night of the fire,” Lisa quietly filled in. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet her concerned eyes. “When I think about what I’d do...I don’t wanna be that man. I can’t lose you or the kids.” He lifted Mary back into his arms. “I can’t do this by myself.”

“You really think it’s going to happen again.” His lack of an answer was apparently answer enough. “But that demon, you killed it, right?”

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s nothing. I’m just a paranoid, selfish son of a bitch.”

“You’re a lot of things, Dean, but selfish? Try annoyingly selfless. Now paranoid...” She made a wishy-washy face before smiling. “Hardcore facts – do I need to be worried?”

Dean did his best to flash her a confident smile. “Nah, I got that covered.”

~~~

It took watching the tape a dozen more times for Sam to let himself really believe he was looking at Dean. There had been no way to make out the license plate from the blurred footage and there was nothing distinct about the pickup truck.

By early evening he’d still managed to find out that Dean hadn’t traveled great distances to find the book. Dean lived in town and not under some cover name. Walking away from hunting had made his brother sloppy. There was a Dean Winchester listed in the phone book. 

Part of Sam was angry that Dean would be so careless and part of him was awestruck by the thought that his brother really had managed to walk away. The last thing he’d thought he’d ever see was Dean living as an honest member of society. A little more digging revealed that Dean wasn’t living as squeaky clean as Sam had originally pictured.

Sam sat on a tattered vinyl stool in a bar on the edge of town. The counter was dinghy and the air thick with smoke. It wasn’t a hookup bar. A glance over the customers revealed that there wasn’t a single female present. Mostly it was an older crowd of shaggy men knocking back heavy liquor while keeping to themselves. The only interaction was happening at the pool tables and a booth in the back corner.

He and Dean had hung out in plenty of worse dives, but this was far from a place for a family man. It didn’t add up with the other information he had so far dug up on Dean. On the other hand, it was the first thing he’d found that actually felt like the Dean he knew.

“You’re sure that’s him?” Sam asked the bartender. His voice was as quiet as it could be while still being loud enough to be heard over the country music that droned over the bar’s speakers.

The grizzly bartender gave a firm nod. “Dean, yeah, that’s him.” After tapping the photo Sam had made from the close-up in the video the man returned to drying glasses. “That spunky little prick made a hell of an impression.”

Sam raised his brows as he folded the photo and shoved it back into his pocket. “How’s that?”

“He was hustling some out of towners, real rowdy bunch. I thought they were gonna beat his face in. Instead he wiped the floor with their asses. Took out all five of them. Should’ve seen their faces. Damn hilarious.”

“So he’s been causing trouble around here?”

“Dean? Nah.” The bartender gave a wave before refilling Sam’s shot glass. “The morons never got that they’d been hustled. Your pretty boy didn’t go Bruce Lee until they started harassing some of the regulars. Saved me the trouble of dragging the cops in here.” Leaning over the counter, the bartender spoke in a low voice, “Between you and me, Sheriff Mills is loosing her sense of humor.”

After knocking back the shot, Sam pushed off the stool. “Thanks.”

His eyes drifted to the group of strangely clean-cut men hunched over the back corner booth locked in conversation. Instead of heading for the door, Sam moved back towards the bathroom.

“It’s just like Father Reed foretold,” one of the men said. “The path to salvation has been laid out before us. Michael’s traitor has the text.”

The hairs at the nape of Sam’s neck stood on end. A lot of people were named Michael, but nothing about this bar suggested that it would attract anyone interested in salvation and he’d long ago given up on the concept of coincidence.

Hanging back Sam discretely watched the small group long enough to realize that none of them were even drinking. They were just sharing a basket of untouched onion rings.

“And the new vessel?” another man asked.

“Also in his possession. If he doesn’t show up here, the scouts will flush him out. Either way the heretic dies tonight and tomorrow Michael will be freed from his prison.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean’s partial confession to Lisa had completely backfired. Instead of getting her off his back, she was all the more intent on hovering. If he’d been completely honest the only problem would be that she was wasting her time. He hadn’t lied, but he might have omitted a few key details. Something was coming, he didn’t know what, but he could feel it. 

Another white lie had earned him a hall pass. Finally he was alone in the garage under the guise of working on the Impala. The truth was he hadn’t touched the Impala since he’d parked her in here years earlier, and he wasn’t about to now.

Lisa thought she knew what the car meant to him and that if he could bear to look at it then he would suddenly be whole again. He let her think that because it hurt too much to explain the truth.

Instead of popping the hood, he dug through an unlabeled cardboard box that summed up his life, but was relegated to the garage. It didn’t matter that it was everything he had been. He had to be something else now.

It wasn’t bad. If Sam wasn’t suffering, things would actually be good. That was how he knew everything was about to go to hell. Good things didn’t just keep on happening, not to him. Any minute it was all going to hit the fan and he wasn’t going to let himself be blindsided again.

His fingers ran over the familiar suede of Dad’s journal. Muscle memory let him immediately flip to any particular entry. He knew the entire journal by heart. Still he clung to a fading hope that he would this time find the secret he’d missed the last hundred times he’d combed line by line through Dad’s jumbled writings.

At the click of the garage doorknob turning, Dean slammed the journal closed. He didn’t have time to pretend to be working before the door opened. A touch of relief washed over him when he saw Ben standing in the doorway.

“You need something, sport?” Dean asked.

“Dinner?”

“Right.” Dean pulled back the flaps of the box and hid the journal beneath Dad’s old jacket. His hand lingered on the worn leather before he shoved the box back onto the shelf. “Did you finish your homework?”

“It’s too hard. I’ll figure it out later,” Ben mumbled. “What’s in the book?”

“Nothing. It’s just...whoa, back it up. Since when do we just give up on something?”

Ben plopped down on the garage steps, frustration coming off him in waves. “It’s just stupid stuff I’m never gonna use.”

Dean scratched his head. “Well, yeah, probably – that’s school.”

He’d made that point himself more than once and the problem was that he’d been right, at least until a couple of years ago. Now he was left barely able to scrounge a decent living and it sure as hell wasn’t a family wage. There had been more than a few months he’d had to hustle on the side, especially lately with Lisa on maternity leave.

“Half of it’s a bunch of useless crap,” Dean continued, “the other half is good stuff. Problem is you don’t know what you need to know until you need to know it. Homework then dinner.”

Ben put his elbow on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. “I can’t do it.”

“Hey, dude, come on. You can do anything. Did you have Mom look at it?”

Dean cringed at Ben’s dry chuckle. He was pretty sure he was guilty of unintentionally teaching the kid that. “Mom’s too busy with Mary. She doesn’t even know I exist anymore.”

“Come on, you know that’s not true. You gotta give her a break. How about I give it a shot?”

Ben looked rightfully skeptical, but hopped up from the steps and headed back inside. Before he even settled down in the chair beside Ben, Dean knew this was going to go badly. He hadn’t bothered with textbooks since junior high, had been elated to see a big red ‘C’ staring up at him when a teacher passed him back an assignment and indifferent if the letter came later in the alphabet.

“Can’t be that bad,” Dean said when he got a look at the opened book. “It’s got pictures.”

After staring at it for a few moments longer he realized it was math. Geometry. Fantastic. Sam would have a field day with this crap, but Dean’s eyes were glazing over and he hadn’t even made it past the first line of instructions. It wouldn’t matter if he had slept, it would still look as Greek as that damn Latin book.

“This is freakin’ America. Who the hell uses centimeters?”

“Scientists,” Ben said as he scooted his chair in. “It’s a universal measurement or some crap.”

Dean looked up from the book to raise a brow to Ben. “Don’t say ‘crap’.”

“Why not? You do.”

“Good enough reason not to.” At Ben’s questioning look Dean gave a smirk. “You start talking like me, who do you think Mom is coming after?”

Ben gave a little smile until his eyes returned to the textbook. He folded his arms on the table and dropped his head down on them. So far Dean was failing as a tutor. They hadn’t even looked at the assignment and he was already losing the kid. Dean shook Ben’s shoulder and tapped the book.

“Hey, stay with me here. Okay so...uh...‘calculate the cylinder volume in cubic centimeters’.”

Silence hung between them as they both stared at the evil sentence. A better question than how was why. If he needed to know how much something held he just filled it up until it was full, he didn’t pull out a damn calculator and encyclopedia.

Dean read through the instructions a couple more times before pointing. “I guess we just take this Enochian looking thing and...”

“Pi.”

“Pie might help,” Dean agreed. His stomach had just remembered he’d only eaten enough at breakfast to appease Lisa. “Maybe we should do dinner first.”

“No, I mean that thing,” Ben said as he pointed at the symbol, “it’s pi – 3.1416.”

If it was possible, Dean’s eyes glazed over all the more. He thought they were doing geometry, not geography. Maybe Ben also had geography homework. Dean sucked a lot less at that.

“And that’s a coordinate for...?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s pi.”

“Wow. Okay. No idea what you just said, but okay.” Dean shifted in his chair and gave up on staring dumbly at the book, instead looking to Ben. “So you’re the Einstein here, what do with the...pie?” 

“Multiply it times…I don’t need to know this,” Ben groaned.

“Yes you do.”

“You don’t.”

That much was painfully obvious. Lisa said she’d always wanted to find a strong role model for Ben. Dean was only half joking when he asked her when she was going to get around to that.

“Exactly. All the more reason for you to do it. Ben, you don’t want to end up like me.”

“Yeah I do.”

This kid was one of the biggest reasons Lisa should have kicked him to the curb on day one. Instead she had gone on about how Ben should look up to him and the kid was doing it. The whole thing scared the crap out of Dean. He was nothing, but a walking, talking cautionary tale.

“A barely employable nutcase who knows a boat load of diddly-sqaut? Yeah, I’m what everybody wants to be when they grow up.”

For the first time Ben did look at him like he was stupid. “Dude, you saved the world and you know like everything about hunting. That’s the coolest job in the whole world.” 

The horror that flashed over Dean’s face was only a sampling of the terror he felt. Those were right next to the last words he’d ever wanted to hear come out of his son’s mouth. He remained silent as he tried to force himself to relax before replying. When he spoke, his tone was low.

“Let’s get something straight here. I didn’t save the world. My brother did. And hunting, it’s not a job. It’s...it don’t matter what it is because you ain’t touching it. Not now, not ever. You hear me?” When Ben’s stunned eyes just kept staring up at him, Dean realized that his voice hadn’t been as composed as he wanted to think. “Ben, look, I...”

The chirping of the doorbell saved him from coming up with words he didn’t have. Dean pushed back his chair and made a grateful dash for the front door. Whatever was knocking couldn’t be worse than whatever had been about to come out of his mouth. Demons didn’t tend to knock and he had a devil’s trap to filter out the ones who did.

Before he left the kitchen, he stopped and looked back to his son. The last thing he wanted was for Ben to think he’d done something wrong. Ben wasn’t the problem here. “You’re gonna be a hell of a better man than I am.”

“Dean?” Lisa called.

“I got it,” he called back. Dean stopped on the way to the door to look up the stairs and send Lisa a thumbs up. “It’s all good.”

It was probably Sid coming over to share the obvious fact that there was no point in showing up to work tomorrow. Even while he told himself that, Dean couldn’t help but tense as he unlocked the deadbolt and turned the door handle.

At first he didn’t see anyone. When he looked down he saw the boy standing on the steps. He looked around Ben’s age, but Dean didn’t recognize him as one of the neighbor kids. The boy was a gangly mess, all arms and legs, with piercing blue eyes, pale skin and closely cropped sandy blond hair.

The poor kid looked royally freaked. He stood frozen, staring blankly up at Dean. Old instinct kicked in. Dean moved forward to protect the child only to have the boy stumble backwards. When the kid nearly tripped over a clear plastic bag filled with boxes of cookies Dean realized the boy wasn’t running from monsters. He just wasn’t cut out to be a door-to-door salesman.

While it was that time of the year, Dean wasn’t sure what kind of parent let their son sell cookies during what might as well have been a monsoon. The rain pelted down sideways against the frail looking boy, who wasn’t even wearing a coat and had to be soaked to the bone.

“Just the man we were waiting for,” Dean said as he stepped aside. “Come on in.”

The boy stiffly shook his head, his eyes still wide. Dean was about to insist until he realized his need to get the kid some place warm was probably coming off creepy. There was no way he’d want Ben walking into some strange guy’s house. Of course he wouldn’t let Ben go door to door to begin with.

Dean’s brow creased as he leaned down to get a better look at the boxes. It wasn’t unusual for kids to come around selling Girl Scout cookies, but it was weird for boys to do it. He lifted one of the boxes from the bag and showed it to the boy.

“Seriously? Did you beat up some Brownie and steal her cookies?”

While it was mostly meant as a joke, the boy looked mortified. “No...no, sir. They were donations.”

Dean leaned forward and whispered, “Between you and me, some Brownies deserve it.”

He cracked a smile to try to lighten the kid up, but having moved in closer just let him see that the kid was shaking whether it was from cold or fear. Obviously he wasn’t going to cheer the boy up, the least he could do was buy some cookies.

“Tagalongs or Thin Mints?” Dean called over his shoulder.

When Ben and Lisa’s opposing answers came almost simultaneously Dean shrugged to the boy. “I guess we’re gonna be big spenders. One of each.” While he pulled out his wallet he gave another glance to the bag. “You going home once you sell all those?” The kid gave a little nod. “I’ll buy you out.”

The boy looked shocked and confused, but after a moment hesitantly dropped the bag inside the doorway. “What awesome cause are we supporting?” Dean asked as he surveyed his bounty.

“St. Peters Church.”

“Church? Super.” Dean tried his best not to make a face. He counted the boxes and pulled out the cash, he held it out to the kid but waited for the boy to meet his eyes before releasing his hold on the bills. “Okay, but word of advice.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Never trust an angel.”

The boy accepted the money, but wrinkled his face. “Uh...yes sir.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dean replied as he stood back to his full height. “Hey, do you live close? If you need to call someone...”

“I’m fine, Mr. Winchester.”

The boy rushed down the front steps as fast as his feet could carry him. He stopped at the bottom to stare back up at Dean while the rain cascaded down over him. It almost looked like he was going to say something, but he took off down the street instead.

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line as he watched the boy run out of sight. Shaking his head, he locked the door back up and returned to the kitchen with his stash. At the sight of the bag, Ben’s solemn face lit up. He popped out of his chair and rushed over to Dean.

“Man, you hit the mother load!” Ben shouted excitedly.

“What are you boys up to down there?” Lisa asked from the top of the stairs.

“Dean bought a whole truck of cookies!” Ben called back before Dean’s ‘nothing’ could leave his mouth.

One way or another he was going to win himself a spot on the sofa tonight. He tried not to look guilty when Lisa walked in with Mary cuddled in her arms. For a long moment she stood there looking between the pile of cookie boxes and Dean.

“What exactly are we doing with all these cookies?” she asked.

“Eating them?” Dean fished out a box of Thin Mints and handed them to Lisa while Ben dug into the Tagalongs. When Lisa’s look didn’t let up, Dean let out an exasperated sigh. “I know, okay? But the kid was soaking wet and...”

Before Dean could finish, Lisa gave him another one of her confounding, random kisses. “God, I love you.”

“Uh...I love you to,” Dean replied in confusion. He rubbed the back of his head. “So we’re good?”

“We’re great.” Mary apparently disagreed and suddenly turned on the waterworks. “Everyone not in a dirty diaper is great,” Lisa corrected. “Duty calls.” She raised her brows to Dean before turning to leave. “Please don’t let Ben eat that entire box of cookies.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With Lisa heading back up the stairs, Dean returned to his seat at the table with a box of Do-Si-Dos. Ben watched him warily like he thought Dean was planning on confiscating his cookies. Dean waved him off.

“She doesn’t know how many boxes there are,” Dean replied with a mouthful of cookie. “She won’t notice if a few are missing. Just save room for dinner or she is gonna take it out of my ass.” Dean poured a pile of the cookies on the table, pushed some of his towards Ben before pointing back to the textbook.

“Come on, read the question again. Better yet, flip to the back and see what kind of answer we’re shooting for.”

“Already tried. Some son of a bitch cut out the answers,” Ben replied. “I know something is going on.”

Dean slowly looked up from the textbook when he realized that Ben had changed the subject. “What?”

“You’re all worried again. Something is going to happen and I can help.”

“Everything’s cool. Now show me how to kick this cylinder in the ass then I’ll show you how to make spaghetti sauce alla Winchester.” The silence lingered long enough that Dean shot the boy a sideways look. “Ben...”

His son grumbled something Dean chose not to hear before reading the question again. While he listened, Dean looked past the kitchen blinds to the ceaseless driving rain that hammered against the window. Ben was right. Something was coming. Dean just wished he knew what it was.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean walked through the darkened house, marginally satisfied after checking the defenses for the third time. In the kitchen, he stopped in front of the sink and gave one last glance to the window’s salt line. He turned his back on the raging storm, leaning against the coolness of the counter and struggling to slow the torrent of thoughts racing through his mind.

Silently he opened the nearest cupboard and stretched for the back of the top shelf. His hand closed around the bottle of Jack. He stood in the shadows of the kitchen with the bottle set against his lips but didn’t tip it back far enough for the pale liquid to touch his tongue.

After a moment, he screwed the cap back on and returned the bottle to the shelf. He reached to the side of the liquor stash and pulled out a canteen. From the next cupboard he grabbed the largest drinking glass they owned and filled it from the canteen.

With the glass in hand he left the kitchen, headed up the stairs and stopped outside of Ben’s room. This wasn’t something he could avoid forever, no matter how much he wanted to. Dean nudged the room’s door open far enough to see his son sprawled peacefully in bed.

All he wanted was for the boy to be safe; all he knew for sure was that nothing was safe. Dean could play make believe all he wanted and pretend that he could raise his son to know that the monster under the bed wasn’t real but he was having a hell of a time lying to Ben with a clean conscience.

As long as Dean could keep the monsters away Ben could live his life never knowing the full extent of what was out there, but if something got past Dean, he was leaving his family defenseless. He wouldn’t be doing Ben any favors by protecting his innocence at the cost of his life. It was Sam all over.

It was the same questions, the begging to know what no one really wanted to know. It was the truths that couldn’t be taken back and would have Ben doing double takes at every shadow for the rest of his life.

Dean had been Ben’s age when he’d had to admit the truth to Sam, could still hear his little brother sobbing quietly into his pillow. He hadn’t felt like a kid then, hadn’t for a long time. Yet the twelve year old sleeping in front of him, wrapped soundly in his blanket, looked painfully young. He really was just a kid.

Staring up at the glowing stars on Ben’s ceiling, Dean prayed to whatever sorry son of a bitch might be listening that he was doing the right thing. He glanced down the hallway and listened for Lisa before slipping into Ben’s bedroom and shutting the door quietly behind him. After a deep breath he flicked on Ben’s bedroom lamp.

The kid rustled in his bed. Ben’s eyes blinked open, confusion and the blurriness of sleep looked up at Dean. Slowly sitting up in the bed Ben rubbed his eyes and looked around the room.

“What’s going on?” Ben asked. “Am I in trouble?”

“I don’t know. What’d you do?” At Ben’s needlessly guilty look, Dean ruffled the kid’s rumpled hair. “Nah, I just need to talk to you. You know, man to man.”

“Sure.” Ben straightened up on the bed, his face becoming serious. “Something is coming isn’t it?”

Dean set the glass next to Ben’s lamp and motioned for him to scoot over on the bed. He sat down beside his son and leaned back against the headboard. Ben squirmed out from under the covers to sit beside him.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Dean said. “Between you and me, I think I’m a little nuts, but I’m also usually right, which sucks like a son of a bitch. We’re not talking Red Alert here, but...”

“Force fields up?”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked up. “Yeah, and I just need to know if, and that’s a big freakin’ if, something happens to me that the rest of you can stay safe long enough to get to Grandpa Bobby’s.”

“You need me to watch out for Mom and Mary.”

“No,” Dean replied firmly. He sighed, tipping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Protecting them, it’s on me, not you.”

“But I really can help.”

“I know you can.”

Dean had seen Ben in action. At eight years old the kid had been a natural. The boy kept his cool, could think on his feet and had Dean’s instinctive need to protect others. It was how well Ben fit the role that made Dean ill. Ben would make one hell of a hunter. Dean wasn’t going to let that happen, but there were some things Ben needed to know.

“You remember that mama changeling?” Dean asked.

“Uh huh,” Ben said with an enthusiastic nod. “She looked like a girl but she was really a monster.”

“That’s right. Demons, they’re kinda like that. Usually they got black eyes, but not always, and most the time they just look like people. Now a couple of things can draw them out. Don’t drink that,” Dean said with a nod towards the glass of water beside Ben’s lamp. “That’s holy water. If anyone comes in here, you throw that at them. You grab Mary, you find Mom and run like hell. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. There are also these markings. They’re called devil’s traps. Once a demon steps into one, they can’t get out. There’s one at the front door and I’m putting one under the new rug in the nursery...don’t tell Mom.”

“Is a devil’s trap that weird circle spray painted circle under the rug in the hallway?” Ben asked. Dean gave a hesitant nod. “Dude, Mom already knows about that.”

“Who looks under a rug?”

Ben once again looked at him like he was an idiot. “She was sweeping.”

“I really gotta take over the housework,” Dean muttered. 

“What’s the salt do?”

“If you salt the doors and windows, they can’t in. Or out, so don’t do it if they’re already in unless you’re already out. Not that anything is getting in.”

“It’s okay, I’m not scared.” Ben looked up to Dean. “I just don’t want you to be scared anymore.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He wrapped his arm around his son and tried to remember what he had wanted to hear the nights he had more or less told his dad the same thing. But he didn’t know what the right thing to say was, more than that, he was pretty sure it didn’t matter what he said.

If he lied Ben would see through it and he couldn’t admit the truth. A kid shouldn’t ever know that the person protecting them was afraid, but Ben was right. He was terrified, just like he knew his dad had been.

“It’s all good,” Ben told him. “I don’t care what you say, you’re a hero. You did save the world and you can handle a stupid demon.” The kid gave a sleepy yawn and curled back down into his blankets. “We’re gonna be okay.”

~~~

The rumble of thunder invaded the twilight slumber Dean had adopted since Sam had taken the plunge. Always skirting the edge of sleep, but never reaching it left him perpetually exhausted. It was still better than falling where the dreams could reach him.

His body stiffened at another flash of lightening behind his closed eyelids. In the next instant he wasn’t wrapped in the comfortable warmth of a blanket but suffocating in sweltering heat. Meat hooks suspended his body in an empty chasm with only the sounds of thunder, his own desperate cries and Sam’s gut wrenching screams echoing from an unseen distance.

The throaty roll of thunder rattled the windows just enough to shake off the last shreds of sleep. Clenching his jaw, Dean wiped the sweat from his brow and fought to steady his quick breaths. His eyes shot open to stare blankly past the ceiling as a shiver rippled through his suddenly chilled body.

That private time, hanging alone, was the best hell had to offer. There he could still dream, still hope. It was more than he could do now. For Dean hell was a memory, but for Sam it was still reality. It always would be because Dean hadn’t been able to find a way around sacrificing his brother and he had all but failed in getting Sam out. That was the great hero that Lisa and Ben were betting their lives on.

It was only a matter of time before he let the lives of his new family slip between his fingers. Dean clutched the comforter to his chest, took another breath and reached for Lisa. The last thing he wanted was to wake her, but he needed to feel her, feel something that would assure him he hadn’t screwed up again.

The bed beside him was empty. His heart skipped a beat as he heard his usually quiet daughter crying at the top of her lungs. Dean threw aside the covers and tore down the hallway. His pounding steps skidded to a stop outside of Mary’s nursery. Lisa jumped, but took in a deep breath when she saw him.

“Dean, you scared me.”

She was standing beside the crib. Frustration and pure exhaustion were barely concealed on her face as she swayed with Mary bawling inconsolably in her arms. Dean forced his heaving breaths to even out before he stepped into the nursery.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “It sounded like you needed a rescue...” He gave a shrug and let the relief wash over him. While she did look desperately in need of saving, it wasn’t from what he had feared. “So here I am. Second shift.”

“We were trying not to wake you. One of us was anyway.” Lisa rolled her eyes and rocked Mary for a moment longer before looking up to Dean. “I forgot how hard this is.”

“Well, the party’s over.” Dean held his arms out. “Hand over the goods.”

“Not a chance.” Instead of giving him Mary, Lisa turned and walked away. “You got work tomorrow.”

“I got work everyday.” Ignoring her attempt at evasion, Dean followed her across the nursery. “Don’t be a baby hog.”

Stubbornly Lisa shook her head. “You’re not using power tools on no sleep.”

“The site is closed until the rain lets up.”

He hadn’t been planning on telling her he wasn’t working tomorrow. There were other things he needed to do that she didn’t need to know about, but right now he just wanted her to get some rest.

“And you were right, okay?” he added when she still looked resistant. “I’m not sleeping anyway. Either I’m not sleeping alone in the dark or I’m not sleeping to the beautiful sound of,” Dean winced as Mary really started to belt it out, “our howling baby banshee. Good God, kid, you got a set of lungs. You must get that sustained screaming power from your mom.”

Lisa laughed softly and slapped his shoulder. “You should head back to bed before you end up not sleeping on the couch.”

“Late nights, no sleep - if you haven’t noticed, it’s kinda my thing.”

“I have no idea what’s wrong, but there’s nothing that will make her happy right now.” With a groan, Lisa readjusted Mary’s weight in her arms. “I just need her to be quiet so that Ben and you can sleep.”

“There’s no saving me.” Dean moved in close enough to work Mary free from Lisa’s reluctant arms. “But at least one of us needs to be conscious for the kids tomorrow.” He cradled Mary to his chest, enjoying the moment of quiet while she got her bearings before resuming her tirade. “I got a secret weapon.”

“This secret weapon better not come out of one of your bottles.”

“I would never...” As Lisa’s eyes narrowed he couldn’t keep a straight face. “Do that again,” he added with a guilty smirk. “This weapon is squeaky clean. Seriously. Go back to bed.”

After a quick kiss Lisa was heading back to the bedroom while Dean hummed Led Zeppelin’s ‘Kashmir’ on his way to the garage. With as loud as she was wailing, there was no way Mary could hear him. Dean couldn’t even hear himself, but the act of humming calmed his raw nerves even if it had no effect on Mary.

All this screaming wasn’t like her. She was a little chatterbox with the soft noises, but wailing wasn’t usually her style. It wasn’t his style either, but right now he half felt like joining her. 

Once they were out in the garage he upgraded from soft humming to flat out singing. “’Oh my baby let me take you there. Oh...’” Mary squirmed in his arms and turned her head away. “Yeah, I know. I suck. Sorry I can’t make it better,” he whispered against her tiny ear. “Story of my freakin’ life.”

His hand ran over the dusty sheet that concealed the Impala. This car had been his home since Mom died and was all he had left of Dad. It was everything he had been, everything he and Sam had been. He had been determined to let her rest until Sam was again at his side, just him and his brother back on the road.

It was an old memory, not the future. The sun had always rose and set with Sam, for him it always would, but Sam wasn’t the only one depending on him anymore and the truth was a bitch.

Everything he could get his hands on said cracking Lucifer’s cage open far enough to free Sam would mean restarting the apocalypse. Worse than that, deep down Dean knew even if he could, what came out wouldn’t be Sam.

Dean’s fist tightened on the edge of the tarp. It had been years since he’d actually slept. His mind was half here and half in the pit with his brother. That would be fine if he wasn’t cradling a baby, his daughter, in his arms so his wife and son could rest. Dad had spent his entire life living for the dead. Dean refused to sacrifice Ben and Mary’s lives to do the same.

In one smooth motion, he pulled the sheet off the Impala. Even in the dingy light of the garage she was as beautiful as ever. He resumed his singing as he transferred Mary’s car seat to the front passenger seat of his steel baby.

Sammy’s car seat had always gone in the back. Not for safety reasons, no one had been dreaming about airbags when this thing had rolled off the line. It was because Dean had been in charge of keeping Sammy in line while Dad drove. The job of watching his baby brother had always been easier when they were driving. No matter what kind of mood Sammy had been in, the Impala soothed him better than any baby rocker. 

There was still nowhere Dean felt more comfortable sleeping than slumped against the leather upholstery, feeling as much as hearing, the rumbling purr of her engine and the gentle rocking of her frame. He’d take the flashing by of streetlights in the black of night over a stationary room any night, but that wasn’t his life. Not anymore.

He climbed into the seat beside Mary and checked the straps on her car seat once more before firing up the engine. For a moment he just drank in the sound of her even as Mary’s crying fought to drown her out. Mary might be a Winchester, but even she couldn’t be stubborn enough to resist the charm of this car.

Pulling out of the garage, Dean kept singing as he flipped on the windshield wipers and drove around the block. The constant stream of movement from the highway would work better, but Dean couldn’t go more than a few blocks before needing to see the house again.

It wasn’t long before Mary’s cries subsided into quiet mumbles. “Yeah, you love this car, you know it,” Dean said as he rubbed her squirming tummy. “She wasn’t meant to be driven solo, thanks for coming along.” He turned his attention back to the empty street. “You sure drew the short straw, you know that?”

This world sucked ass as it was. It was one thing to try to live in it, a whole different thing to try to live in it as a Winchester. Mary shouldn’t have to suffer through this life just because he couldn’t keep his pants on and she sure as hell deserved a real father.

“I don’t know who you pissed off to get sent down here to be my daughter, but I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?”

With heavy eyelids Mary watched him. He held his finger out to her and she grasped it tightly in her hands. After another couple minutes of singing, Mary’s hands went slack.

Dean carefully took his finger back and grabbed his cell phone. It was the bigger reason he’d needed to get out of the house. If he was going to be home with Lisa all day tomorrow sneaking in phone calls wouldn’t be easy so it was now or never. He hit speed dial and waited for the inevitable fallout.

~~~

With the assorted innards scrubbed from his skin, Bobby had finally hit the sack. His weary bones let out a collective sigh of relief as he settled down onto squeaky springs of the worn mattress. Gratefully he listened to the sound of absolutely nothing at all, just peace and quiet at last.

It didn’t take any convincing to get his heavy eyelids to fall closed. Sleep lasted a whopping ten minutes before the damn phone started ringing off the hook again. He had half a mind to set it off the ringer, but he knew the call he didn’t pick up would be the life or death one.

Shoving out of bed, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey on the way to the phone. He took a slug from the bottle and put the phone to his ear.

“If you weren’t about to die before you dialed, you sure as hell are now,” Bobby grumbled.

“Hey, Bobby, it’s me.”

If he had a dime for every chucklehead that started their phone conversation with those exact words he’d be the richest man alive. The same would be true if he changed this to a 1-900 number. Dean was just lucky his voice was one Bobby would always recognize and the boy was family so he got to live.

“Why are you whispering?” Bobby asked. “You already woke me.”

“Mary is finally sleeping,” Dean replied quietly.

His vague annoyance turned to concern as Bobby looked to the clock. It was after 3 AM, no time for a family man to be making phone calls. He knew the kid was struggling on the sleep front. Hell, Bobby had offered him some old witch doctor remedies last week when Dean had stopped by looking like death warmed over.

No matter how much he wanted to beat it into Dean’s thick head, the boy refused to see that he was burning himself out. Dean wouldn’t let go of his brother and now he was riled up about imaginary demons. All the same, even with as hysterical as Dean had been lately, the boy had been keeping the calls to sane hours.

“You on the road?”

Dean usually called from a car, but the engine Bobby was hearing over the phone wasn’t that F-150. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that purr belonged to the Impala.

“Yeah. Well...no.”

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. “Kid, it’s the wrong time of the night for you being as clear as mud. What’s going on?”

There was a long run of silence before Dean replied. “Have you found anything?”

When Dean called it always turned into a guessing game, cryptic questions and just as cryptic answers. While Dean had stopped talking about it, Bobby knew the boy was still dabbling around with things he shouldn’t be touching in the hopes of dredging Sam’s soul out of the cage.

If anything this new demon obsession of his was a relief. It’d be harder for Dean to do something apocalyptically stupid hunting down demons that didn’t exist rather than throwing rocks at Lucifer.

“About your imaginary omens?” Bobby asked. “Not surprisingly, no. You know as well as I do that sometimes crappy weather is just crappy weather.”

“I’m telling you, Bobby, it’s more than that this time. I can feel it.”

“You felt the same thing last time. What you’re feeling is nerves, boy. You need to take a deep breath and stop trying to make something out of nothing.”

With a heavy sigh, Bobby pulled up a chair and plopped down. He’d said it a hundred times before and it wasn’t going to make a lick of difference now. If Bobby couldn’t come up with something more concrete Dean was going to worry himself right into an early grave.

“But just to be safe, in the morning I’ll do another round of checks and make some more calls, but Dean?”

“Yeah, Bobby?”

“Just because it happened to your parents doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen to Mary and Ben’s, you hear?” When Dean didn’t reply, Bobby pushed further. “I’m assuming you haven’t made any deals for her soul, right?”

“No,” Dean replied sharply.

“Then quit your worrying! The only threat here is you giving yourself a stroke and driving your wife insane. She called the other day, you know, and Ben, he called yesterday.”

The line went quiet as Dean let the words sink in. “I guess I really am freaking everybody out, aren’t I? I’m just...”

“I don’t wanna hear any excuses coming out of your mouth. I ain’t saying you’re not being a paranoid idjit, ‘cause you are, but damn it Dean, if anyone has a right to be it’s you. I know how much this family means to you and I know how much you’ve lost. But you ain’t in it alone. I got the eyes and ears out.”

“I know you do.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair. He had no doubt that despite everything, alone was exactly what Dean was feeling right now. “Come to think of it, why don’t you all come spend the weekend at my place? Even if I’m wrong, which I ain’t mind you, you’ll have backup if something does happen. Will you calm down then?”

Dean gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah, I’ll try. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. You know it’s just an excuse for me to get some time in with the grandkids.” When he leaned forward in his chair, Bobby caught a glance at his notes. “Oh and Dean, been meaning to ask, you ever hear of a book called Carmenum Regnum Daemonis?” The lack of response was answer enough. “You got it then?”

“Will it help?”

The boy’s tone was too hopeful for Bobby to once again state the obvious. There wasn’t a damn thing that would bring Sam back, not as Sam, not without pulling the rest of the world down right along with him. There’d been a time when Dean wouldn’t have cared. The whole world ought to be letting out a collective sigh of relief that Dean had that family of his. Otherwise they’d already be in apocalypse part two.

“No,” Bobby lied, “but that thing is a world of bad. Don’t you go showing it to anyone and you bring it along when you come this weekend.”

While Dean said nothing to it, all it took was hearing the kid’s weary sigh for Bobby to know how disappointed Dean was. As long as Dean kept up this futile search he was just going to keep on tearing that old wound open.

“Night, Bobby.”

A dial tone droned on in Bobby’s ear. “Night, kid,” Bobby muttered beneath his breath.

He hung the phone up and took another swig from the whiskey. The thing was that book might just be able to do what Dean wanted. It was all the more reason to get it out of Dean’s hands. At the same time, it wasn’t what Dean would do with it that had Bobby worried.

After another drink he again put the phone to his ear and dialed. The phone rang a good four times before an irritated voice answered. “Bobby? Do you even own a clock?”

“Oh you’re a damn fine one to be bitching at me, Rufus,” Bobby grumbled in reply. “You drunk dialed me twice last week.”

“It’s your word against mine. So are we even or...” 

“You were right and don’t you let it go to your head,” Bobby quickly added before Rufus could shoot back a comment. “That old demon text, it was here. Dean’s got it. You wanna run by me again just what kinda monsters we’re looking at here?”


	5. Chapter 5

As he parked the Impala back in the garage Mary dozed quietly at Dean’s side. He started his singing back up before shutting off the engine so the sudden silence wouldn’t shock Mary awake. With gentle hands he scooped his baby girl into his arms. He left the door of the Impala ajar, afraid that the noise of closing it could also pull Mary from her precarious slumber. 

He tiptoed up the stairs and into the nursery where he nestled the groggy girl into her crib. While she thought about opening her eyes, a moment later they fell closed again. With a relieved grin, Dean backed away and left to do one more check of the house before returning to his bedroom.

While he was moving as quietly as humanly possible, it wasn’t quiet enough to prevent Lisa from stirring beneath the covers. “Sounds like your secret weapon worked,” she said softly, “assuming we still have a daughter.”

“She’s all tucked in,” Dean assured her.

“What are you doing?”

Dean looked up from the baby monitor he had opened up on the dresser. “Changing the batteries in this thing.”

Sitting up slightly on the bed, Lisa watched him. “You just changed the batteries.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust this indicator light and these batteries are crap.”

“Come to bed,” Lisa said as she laid back down.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Dean slipped the battery cover back on the monitor and settled on top of the covers beside Lisa. She rolled towards him and gave a sigh as her hand brushed over his chest. “I thought we were past sleeping dressed.”

Lisa had always been patient with him. He didn’t even understand why, but she had his nomination for sainthood. Any other girl would’ve taken it personally that he’d insisted on being fully clothed while sharing a bed with them. When he’d showed up here he’d slept in jeans and a flannel for at least the first six months, ready at any moment to jump into battle. Eventually he’d eased into sweats and finally into boxers, but tonight he couldn’t even take the Colt out of his waistband.

“I wanna be ready in case Mary wakes up again.”

“She’s six months old, Dean. Mary doesn’t care if her daddy is dressed.”

There were still several days before Mary would be six months. He knew that for a fact, could almost count the hours. Maybe he was paranoid, but all he knew for sure was that he wasn’t fighting demons in his boxers.

“It’s cold.”

“That’s why I got you sweats and why you got me a rug.” She propped herself up on her elbow and groaned when she really looked at him. “Not happening, Dean. I just changed the sheets. Boots off the bed. Now.”

“They’re not touching the sheets.”

“And now I know where Ben gets it from. If you need to sleep in a parka, fine, but I’m drawing the line at boots unless you want to talk about it. Tell me what’s really going on and you can sleep in your full construction gear.”

Dean leaned in towards his conniving wife as he untied the laces of his boots. “How about I kiss you instead?”

“How about you stop being a boy?” she replied as she playfully shoved him away.

Dean gave her a smile, tried to push aside his worry and kicked off his boots. It was all the undressing he could manage before he laid back down beside her. Dean drew an arm around her, pulling her to his chest and placing a kiss on top of her head.

“We’re safe here with you,” she said. If Lisa really thought about his track record with keeping his family alive there was no way she would have ever opened her door to him. “Just try to get some sleep, okay?”

Curled beside her, he let his eyes close right before the shattering of glass echoed through the still house. In an instant he was bolt upright on the bed. He nearly jumped straight into his boots, checked to make sure he still had the Colt and grabbed a salt round loaded shotgun from beneath the bed.

Standing momentarily frozen, he glanced to Lisa to make sure he hadn’t imagined the threat. It would be far from the first time. With worried eyes she nodded. She was also out of bed and reaching for her robe.

“Mom?” Ben called. “Dean?”

“Ben, stay where you are,” Dean called back.

Before Dean could make it to the door, Lisa was already directly behind him. Being as on edge as he was, she was lucky she didn’t get shot. Dean threw out an arm to block her from leaving the room.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“You’re not the only one in charge of protecting this family.”

The determination in Lisa’s eyes left no room for argument. He wanted her clear of harm’s way, but he couldn’t fight and get to the kids at the same time.

“I’ll cover you,” Dean reluctantly agreed as he double checked the shotgun’s shells. “Just get to Ben, I got Mary.”

Dean threw open the bedroom door. The shotgun swung in both directions as he stepped out into the dark hallway. While no one was moving, he could hear whispered voices downstairs. His grip on the gun tightened as the fear and rage rose inside him.

Silently he motioned Lisa towards Ben’s room. At that moment his son stepped out into the hallway with the glass of water Dean had given him. Dean waved him back towards his room. “Stay with Mom,” he whispered.

On his way towards the stairs Dean checked Mary’s nursery. She was still tucked in her crib. Moving further down the hallway, Dean stopped at the top of the stairs in time to see the silhouette of a man walk in the front door right over the devil’s trap and join another man in the living room.

“What the...get the hell out of my house!” Dean shouted.

He jogged down the stairs with the shotgun leveled and shifting between the two men. While salt rounds wouldn’t kill a human, he knew first hand that at close range they were plenty capable of incapacitating someone.

The Colt was fully loaded and would put a quick end to this regardless of what these guys really were. At this point he didn’t give a crap if they were only human, but he didn’t have extra bullets on hand. He couldn’t risk that these two jokers were just the welcoming crew for something worse. 

“Man, did you sorry sons of bitches pick the wrong house,” Dean hissed.

These weren’t scared punk kids. Dean’s stomach flipped as he took in the casualness of the men’s posture. Their faces were calm enough that they could’ve been old friends stopping by for a beer. They hadn’t even spared a glance at the shotgun.

“The boy was right,” the taller man said to the other. “That is Winchester.” The man then shifted his eyes back to Dean. “And he will repent for his disloyalty.”

The blood drained from Dean’s face at the confirmation that this wasn’t random. He took aim at the man who had spoken. Both men hit the ground as the shot was fired. Before Dean could pull off another shot the men rushed him.

Together they slammed him back against the hallway closet. The larger man wrestled for the gun while the other held Dean back. Dean released his grip on the weapon just long enough to throw an elbow to the short guy’s ribs and a fist to the tall one’s face.

With a sneer Dean jerked back the gun and took a shot at the stunned shorter man, this time solidly hitting the target. Pulling the shotgun back, he rammed the butt full force into the temple of the taller man who crumpled to the floor with his partner. Dean cracked the shotgun’s butt against the head of the man he’d shot for good measure before loading new shells.

His heart thudded in his chest as he ran back up the stairs. “Ben? Lisa?”

“Dean?” Lisa called back. “In here.”

Dean’s chest heaved as he pushed open the door to the nursery. “Lisa, you can’t be in here.”

“Why?” Lisa asked. “Is the demon here?” While Dean struggled to summon up an explanation Lisa’s eyes only grew more concerned. “Dean, are you okay?”

“Just grab Mary’s stuff. We gotta get out of here.”

“Dean, look out!” Ben shouted.

Following Ben’s eyes, Dean twisted with the shotgun raised. A man with a death wish stepped directly in front of the barrel and grabbed a hold. With a sharp jerk the man wrenched the gun from Dean’s hands and jammed the butt back into his abdomen.

The sharp pain left Dean doubled over and gasping. By the time he looked up the man had the gun pointed to his chest. Dean only had a split second to meet the man’s cold eyes, to hear his wife scream, before the trigger was pulled.

The blast knocked Dean from his feet. He barely registered the impact as his body skidded across the floor. Tenaciously he clawed to hold on to consciousness as the room faded. Distantly he heard the man speak, his tone as cold and harsh as his eyes.

“Your gun is as ineffective as you are.”

He heard it clatter to the ground, but it was Lisa’s screaming that drew him back. Dean blinked his eyes, slowly realizing that Lisa wasn’t so much screaming as yelling. She was bitching the bastard out.

Dean struggled to roll onto his side. His eyes focused to see Lisa pointing at him and standing between the men and Mary as she yelled. Ben stepped forward with the glass of water in hand and splashed into the face of the man closest to Lisa. There was no sizzling of flesh, just the man’s eyes narrowing in annoyance as he swiped the water from his face.

“Ben, stay back!” Dean chocked out too late.

The man grabbed Ben’s arm and flung him. Dean’s gut twisted at the sound of his son’s body thudding against the wall. These bastards were going to die bloody.

Lisa ran to their son’s side as Dean struggled to get to his feet. Every movement rippled agony through his chest. He made it onto his hands and knees just to have the Colt yanked from his jeans. Dean turned to recover it but instead his arms were wrenched behind his back. The man holding him pulled him to his knees and jerked him around so he was facing the crib.

There the man who had shot him stood staring down at Mary. Dean growled as the creepy bastard’s hand brushed his daughter’s face. With all the force he could muster Dean bucked against the grip that held him down. Instead of picking Mary up, the man walked towards Dean. Dismissively the man looked down at him.

“You want me, just take me,” Dean said.

The man looked marginally amused before his expression and words again turned icy. “No one wants you, heretic.” 

Dean’s eyes scanned the room as he searched for an opening. Ben was again on his feet with Lisa holding him back. Now that they were all holding still Dean could see that there were three men plus the two unconscious downstairs.

He could only assume that they were men because every one of them had walked right over the devil’s trap to get into Mary’s nursery. But like the men downstairs, there was nothing human in their vacant eyes. It wasn’t like Dean hadn’t been shot to death by humans before, but he wasn’t sure what he’d done to rate most hated this time around.

Dean glared up at the man calling the shots. “You really should introduce yourself before dropping into a guy’s bedroom.”

“Your limited mental capacity is nearly as renowned as your predictability so let me make this painfully clear for you, you’re the betrayer of Michael and I’m your executioner.”

For a moment Dean was left struggling for words. When he finally spoke, his tone was indignant. “Seriously? Two years out and this is still about those damn dicks? Did you just get the memo that Michael’s ass has been roasting down under?”

The man sent a savage kick to Dean’s stomach. His eyes clenched closed as he choked down the bile that tried to creep up in his throat.

“Leave him alone!” Ben shouted.

Dean didn’t so much feel the physical pain. His entire focus was on the frightened anger in his son’s voice, the terror in his wife’s eyes and the cries of his confused baby girl. Dean forced himself to straighten back up, tried to smooth the lines of pain from his face.

After a moment he locked eyes with his son. “It’s fine, Ben,” Dean rasped.

Ben wouldn’t believe him and that wasn’t the point, Dean just needed the boy’s attention on him. He needed for Ben to have a focus that wasn’t putting himself between these men and his dad. Dean used his eyes to direct Ben to Mary’s crib. Ben followed his look and gave a subtle nod.

Obliviously the man in front of Dean continued his rant. “With the new vessel we will correct the path of continued destruction you have set us on and renew this world. There’s just one order of business to attend to first.”

The man walked around behind Dean and shoved the Colt against the base of his head. Dean closed his eyes, swallowing hard. If it was going to happen, it was going to happen, but he wasn’t going to let it happen knowing his family would be next.

“Let them go.” It didn’t matter if it came off as the desperate plea that it was. Dean was damn near out of options here. “Give me the goddamn gun and I’ll do it myself. Just let them go.”

“He said you’d die for them and you will.”

The heavy hammer of the Colt was cocked back and the man that had been holding his arms released him to step out of the way. It was the closest thing to an opening Dean would get. If it wasn’t enough, they were dead anyway. 

“Get her out of here, Ben!”

At the same moment he shouted Dean threw his arms back and grappled for the revolver. Blindly he pointed the Colt away from his head, the shot piercing a hole through the ceiling above them. He leapt to his feet and knocked back the startled men. With a glance towards Mary’s crib he saw Ben standing around the backside, partially out of view but ready to make his move.

“It’s Michael you want?” Dean asked the men.

The full focus of all three men turned on him. Past the men that surrounded him he could see Ben carefully taking his little sister into his arms. The boy looked to him for confirmation. Dean gave a sharp nod.

“You’re right, I’m the one that lit the campfire under his ass.”

In the next moment Dean was tackled to the ground. Sharp kicks landed in his side before the thunder of a gun blast ripped through the air. Instinctively Dean threw his arms over his head. A moment later one of the men was down. Dean peered up to see Lisa with the shotgun in her shaking hands.

Before Dean could get back to his feet, one of the men ran at Lisa. Dean barely saw the glint of the dagger before it was shoved into his wife. A moment later it was jerked out, the blotch of red instantly blooming over her nightshirt.

“No!”

Dean’s higher thinking clicked off. With a feral rage he fought the remaining men. Each punch and kick was aimed for maximum damage. Despite the cracking of bone, the bastards kept coming. Physically they reacted like humans, but with the mentality of demons that didn’t give a crap about the vessels they were riding.

Once he had enough clearance Dean whipped out the Colt and fired a shot between the eyes of the lead man. Neither of the remaining men so much as flinched as their companion dropped dead to the floor.

He landed a fatal shot to the man Lisa had pumped full of rock salt before the last one ran at him with the dagger still slick with Lisa’s blood. Dean sidestepped the man before surging forward to knock him into the wall.

Grabbing the man’s wrist with an iron grip, Dean repeatedly slammed the man’s fist against the wall. The man continued to clutch the dagger until Dean twisted the man’s wrist hard enough that the audible crack echoed through the nursery. When the dagger clattered to the ground, Dean snatched it up and turned the man around to face him.

“Who sent you?” Dean asked.

The man stared into Dean’s desperate eyes and laughed. Dean blinked back his tears. He fisted the man’s shirt and held it taut so he could slice the dagger’s blade through the fabric. Nausea crept up in his throat as he shoved the shredded cotton to the side and took in the blank canvas. 

Easily he held the smaller man in place. With the amount of adrenaline coursing through his blood, it wouldn’t have mattered if the man was twice his size. With an expert hand, Dean slid the blade of the dagger over the man’s bared skin.

“Who the hell sent you?”

Dean sliced deeper, carving in long strokes that drew pained cries from the man, but didn’t wipe the manic smile from the man’s face. “Here, let me help you with that,” the man said.

The man’s fingers reached up to wrap over Dean’s. Instead of trying to force the knife away the man pulled the hilt forward, driving the blade deeply into his own gut. Dean took a startled step back as the man twisted the knife inside himself and collapsed to the floor with gurgling chokes that quickly fell silent.

In the silence he heard Lisa’s ragged gasps. Wiping the blood from his hands, Dean dashed across the room and dropped to his knees beside Lisa.

His wife was trembling propped against the wall with her hands clutching the front of her blood soaked camisole. Her breaths were quick and shallow, her face pale with pain. With unsteady hands Dean tried to get a look at the wound. There was too much blood.

“Lisa...” Dean choked on the broken whisper. 

“I’m okay.”

The quiet lie should have been transparent. Instead the tone was pure sincerity. Dean creased his brow. His hand ran through her hair while his eyes searched for her meaning. When he found it he shook his head. She wasn’t okay, not physically. It was her trying to absolve him of a blame that was wholly his.

He opened his mouth to apologize, for this, for everything, but her hand reached up to press against his quivering lips. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered. “Find Ben.”

Dean’s hand caressed her face. Despite his best efforts, his lie didn’t carry the confidence hers had. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Outside there was the screeching of car tires. Dean scrambled up and ran over to the window. He clutched his side as his ribs screamed in protest. After a moment of scanning outside the window he spotted a new car that had pulled up to the curb outside the house.

“Crap. Lisa, just keep pressure...”

His breath hitched when he turned around. Lisa lay slumped on her side, the blood pooling beneath her. The physical trauma to his chest was forgotten as the pain from inside took precedence. Dean knew he didn’t have the luxury of time, but for the next moment could only stare and fight to breathe. All the air might as well have been sucked from the room.

The sound of a car door slamming jarred him back. He forced his feet to move. Calling for his son, he tore down the hallway checking each room. When he found them empty he sprinted down the stairs in search of his children.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam’s car squealed to a stop over the wet asphalt. Following the men from the bar had led him here and there was no need to wonder if it was the right place. The pickup truck from the security camera tape was parked by the curb and had a shattered passenger side window. Across the small lawn, the house’s front door was ajar and the window beside it also broken. He’d found the address, but he’d found it too late.

After a quick check of his gun Sam stepped out of the car, squinting against the wind and rain. He rushed around the side of the house. In the darkness he nearly tripped. When his eyes adjusted he saw a man crouched down protectively over something with a boy at his side.

Urgently the boy tugged at the man’s sleeve. “Dean,” the boy hissed.

When the man looked up the intensity of the pain in his eyes hit Sam before the man’s identity did, but neither the darkness nor the blood could disguise that those agonized eyes belonged to his brother. It wasn’t some guy on a tape that happened to look like Dean. It was his brother huddled bloody on the ground just like he’d left him.

Dean’s panicked eyes grew wide as he stared up at Sam. Confusion melted to sadness and returned to panic in the course of a couple seconds. It wasn’t until Dean shifted his position that Sam saw that it was a baby Dean was protecting from the rain.

Shock gave way to action and Dean transferred the baby into the arms of the boy that Sam slowly recognized as Ben. Dean stood, his movements stiff and wary as he silently ushered the boy behind him. His arms were defensively held out at his side as if Dean was ready to block a charge.

Sam didn’t see the revolver until Dean leveled it at his head. There were a lot of reactions he’d expected from Dean, but having the Colt aimed at him wasn’t one of them. Sam's flat tone carried a hint of surprise when he spoke.

“Dean, it’s me.”

“Like hell it is.” When Sam took a step closer, Dean cocked the gun. “I’m warning you, stay back.”

Sam didn’t stay back and he didn’t try to talk it out because they didn’t have time for this. Instead he rushed forward, knowing Dean wouldn’t pull the trigger, but he did. Sam barely managed to dodge the shot. Shock flashed over his face before he grabbed Dean’s wrist and forced the Colt from his brother’s fingers.

Before Dean could retaliate Sam threw him against the wall of the house, knocking a sharp cry from Dean. The impact shouldn’t have hurt him that much, but by Dean’s sloppy reactions Sam realized his brother was far more injured than he was letting on.

Dean’s arms wrapped around himself and he leaned heavily against the wall. A moment later he recovered and threw himself at Sam. The only thing Dean was going to do was hurt himself more. Easily Sam deflected Dean’s charge and forced him back against the wall, more carefully this time.

His grip tightened over his struggling brother’s shoulders. Dean lashed out in raw desperation, forcing Sam to use his larger size to hold Dean still.

“Look at me,” Sam barked.

“Let him go.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder to see Ben with a firm stance struggling to hold the baby and the Colt. It was beyond Sam how a kid that wasn’t Dean’s could look so much like him.

While Dean still wasn’t looking at Sam, he did stop thrashing. Dean’s startled eyes were on the boy. “Ben, put the gun down.”

“Not until he lets you go,” Ben replied coolly.

Holding Dean down wasn’t helping with the trust building anyway. Slowly Sam released his grip, taking half a step back. He kept his hands in view in case Ben also shared Dean’s trigger-happy tendencies.

“It’s really me, Dean.”

“How...?” Dean’s brow creased as he finally looked up to meet Sam’s eyes.

“Later. We have to get you out of here before more of them show up.”

“Who are they?”

While Dean’s question was aimed towards Sam, his eyes were on the kids. Stepping aside, Sam let Dean return to Ben’s side. Dean grabbed the Colt from the boy, but didn’t holster it.

“I don’t know for sure, but they’re after you and some new vessel.”

After giving Ben’s shoulder a quick squeeze Dean took the baby back into his arms with more care and gentleness than Sam could have imagined Dean possessing. Dean stood back up, holding the baby nestled beneath his over shirt. His ease with holding the baby told Sam this wasn’t some random kid Dean had just saved. 

"That's really why they want her?" A horrified look came to Dean's weary features. "To make her Michael's bitch?"

“Lisa?”

“No, Mary...” Pain again shot over Dean’s eyes. “Come on, Ben.”

Dean moved quickly, herding Ben along with him towards the front door. Cautiously he entered the house while continuing to shoot suspicious looks in Sam’s direction. Sam followed closely behind, more concerned about enemies that might still be lurking in the house than Dean’s mistrust of him.

While Dean rushed Ben and the baby upstairs, Sam took a quick look around the downstairs. It was a classic suburbia house just like any other that he and Dean would have stopped by on a case. Almost just like it. The front door’s throw rug had been pushed aside enough to reveal the devil’s trap beneath it. This was unquestionably Dean’s house.

The place was trashed. Things that had been thrown off shelves cluttered the floor. The place had obviously been torn apart in search of something. There was little question what they had been looking for, it was just a question of if they had found it.

Satisfied that the downstairs was clear, Sam jogged up the stairs and checked the rooms until he again found his brother. Dean spun around with the Colt raised, relaxing only slightly when he saw that it was Sam.

“The bodies are still here,” Dean said. The words were spoken beneath his breath, more to himself than to Sam. “Why'd they take Lisa?” 

Dean's eyes fixed on a dark pool of smeared blood in the corner. At Dean's words Sam took in the three bodies littering the floor. It took him a moment longer before he noticed the more surprising fact that he and Dean were standing in a fully decked out nursery. 

While Sam took in the cuddly animal wallpaper, changing table and assorted toys, his brother rushed around the room. Dean filled a large travel bag with things that to Sam looked completely random, but which Dean seemed to be selecting with care. 

Sam couldn’t remember ever seeing Dean so vulnerable. More times than he cared to think Sam had seen his brother beaten, bloody and exhausted. Even the held back tears in Dean’s eyes weren’t as strange as Sam would like them to be. Yet there was something in his movements, something in the way Dean clung to the baby. Dean’s focus was so narrow that he scarcely even acknowledged that Sam was standing in the room with him and nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam spoke. 

“Is that Mary?”

Dean grasped a teddy bear from the crib and held it with an odd amount of care before sighing. “Yeah.”

“She’s...?”

“My daughter. She’s the one they came for so why the hell would they take Lisa?” Dean ran his shaky hands over his cheeks. “Why didn’t they take me? I’m the freakin’ failed vessel of Michael.”

Sam listened to Dean’s flustered, bitter words but he was too in shock to reply. He watched the baby laying against Dean’s chest. She was strangely quiet, watching Sam with expressive eyes that might as well have been Dean’s. The tiny hands played with Dean’s shirt, balling up the collar and trying to stick it in her mouth.

When Dean’s free hand moved up to pull the shirt out of the baby’s mouth Sam saw the glint of a ring and not on the hand Dean usually wore one. He’d told Dean to settle down and start a family, but he hadn’t honestly believed that his brother would do it. Part of him hadn’t even believed that Dean could do it.

Stepping past Sam, Dean slung the strap of the travel bag over his shoulder and walked back into the hallway. “Ben, let’s go.”

The boy emerged from the room at the end of the hall with a backpack. Sam heard Dad’s voice after a hunt gone bad. Five minutes to pack whatever would fit in a bag, leave anything else and jump in the car for some new place they’d never see again. But Dean’s face wasn’t stern or annoyed that Ben had taken so long. Dean just looked worried and let out a breath of relief when Ben was again at his side. As they walked Dean kept an arm around the boy, still keeping himself between Ben and Sam.

“Where’s Mom?” Ben asked.

Sam glanced to Dean’s face when the answer didn’t come. “I’m working on it,” Dean replied quietly.

To Sam’s surprise, instead of pushing further for answers, Ben mimicked Dean by putting an arm around him. Dean stopped walking and leaned down to give the boy a lingering hug. When he released Ben, Dean again placed Mary into Ben’s arms. He whispered something into the boy’s ear before Ben shot a glance to Sam and then scurried off with the baby.

“Dean, what’re you doing?” Sam asked.

When Dean stepped towards him his body language and eyes were no longer defined by vulnerability, but a more familiar lethal edge. “I don’t know who or what you are, but I know you can’t be my brother.”

“Dean...”

“Don’t.” Dean’s tone was dangerous enough and he was swinging the Colt around erratically enough that Sam clamped his mouth shut. “If you were behind this, if you even think about touching my kids, about using my brother’s face...I’ll make the cage look like a weekend in paradise.”

While Sam didn’t blame Dean for being cautious, he wasn’t sure who Dean thought he was talking to. Sam had walked over Dean’s devil’s trap to get in here and if he was Lucifer he wouldn’t be walking around watching Dean play with his kids. Maybe the fact that he’d walked through the devil’s trap was one of the reasons Dean hadn’t killed him yet. The more he thought about his brother’s behavior the more he realized that Dean wasn’t acting on commonsense.

“I get that you’re scared, but Dean, it’s really me and I’m just here to help.”

“You just popped up from hell to lend a hand?” Dean’s voice was painfully ragged, his brows raised in obvious disbelief. “Awesome. I’ll meet you at Bobby’s.”

“Meet me? My car’s right outside, let’s just go.”

“Oh, we’re both going, but my kids aren’t going anywhere with you.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm when his brother tried to walk away. Without hesitation Dean swung around and landed a fist to Sam’s face. Dean skirted back in preparation for a return strike. It didn’t come.

After rubbing his sore jaw, Sam glared at his brother. “Hit me all you want, but you can barely walk straight and you’re upset. You shouldn’t be driving.”

“Damn right I’m upset!” Dean took another step back. “Sammy, if it’s you, if it’s really you…” He shook his head, biting at his lower lip. “I’m sorry. I can’t deal with this right now. I gotta find my wife.”

“Dean, that was a lot of blood.”

“Nobody’s asking you.” Dean turned his back to Sam as if it could somehow hide the hurt written in every tensed line of his body. “Meet me at Bobby’s or don’t. Just stay out of my way while you do it.”


	7. Chapter 7

Taking Dean’s second phone call of the night had damn near killed Bobby. It had been disjointed and hard to make out, every other word nearly ending in a choked sob. The boy had been an emotional basket case before the attack. He wasn’t up to dealing with anything like this. Despite the clipped sentences the main points had still come through loud and clear. 

Yet no amount of preparing could make Bobby ready for the sight of the boy standing on his doorstep. Dean vacantly stared at the dirt beneath his feet. Blood smeared his face and his averted eyes were red and sad enough to tell the tale. His shoulders were slumped but his fingers gripped a shotgun like his life depended on it. No, like his family’s did.

On Dean’s back little Mary sat in her carrier looking confounded as she played with Mr. Stitches. She’d never been over here without that bear. Hell, Bobby had been part of the emergency surgery to stitch the bear up with dental floss after a run in with some torn up sheet metal. It was hard to think that happy family was the same fractured one standing silently in front of him now.

Bobby barely recognized Ben. The kid was usually smiling with all the strength and confidence of his daddy. Now he was emulating Dean’s despair. Ben hung back, but by the looks he kept shooting over to Sam, Bobby was pretty sure Dean had told the kid to stay to the side.

It was déjà vu enough to make Bobby hate the world all over again. Nearly thirty years ago John Winchester had showed up at his door with a sullen little boy and an oblivious, beautiful baby that should’ve had the whole world ahead of them.

Like an idiot, Bobby had told John that at least he’d hit rock bottom, wasn’t nowhere to go but up. Damn it if hadn’t been nothing but downhill since then. Bobby would have literally given anything for Dean to not have to walk the same path John had, but here the boy was.

Finally Bobby took in Sam with a wary gaze. Sam clutched a pistol in his hand with his eyes locked disapprovingly on his brother. Bobby didn’t know what to think, but he knew one thing for damn sure. Right now Dean was the most exposed he’d ever been and Bobby wasn’t about to let anything take advantage of that.

Bobby gave a nod to Dean, his eyes full of apologies he couldn’t trust himself to say. As Bobby stepped out of the way Dean pulled his son to his side, ruffled the kid’s hair and didn’t once take his eyes off Sam as he had Ben enter the house in front of him.

From the doorway Bobby watched Dean and his kids head for the kitchen. He made sure they were well out of earshot before his eyes focused in on Sam.

More than anything, he wanted this to be Sam standing in front of him – for Sam, for Dean, for the whole damn world, but it just wasn’t possible. Dean had scoured every last inch of this planet looking for a way, had made Bobby do the same. They’d read everything and asked everyone. There just wasn’t any way that wasn’t begging for an apocalypse.

“If you even think of playing that boy,” Bobby said with a motion towards Dean, “I’ll make hell feel like a damn picnic.”

“Good to see you too Bobby,” Sam said. “Dean already gave me the spiel. I’m sorry to disappoint you guys, but it’s me. I don’t know how, but it’s really me.”

“We’ll just see about that now won’t we?”

Sam followed Bobby’s eyes towards the ceiling and quirked a brow at the devil’s trap painted there. With a bored sigh, Sam stepped forward out of the circle. Bobby went on to do the whole drill plus a few extra and Sam didn’t so much as flinch at a one of it which either meant it was actually Sam or something a hell of a lot worse than they’d yet tangoed with.

“Sam?” Bobby couldn’t do much but stare in disbelief as he tried to get his head on straight. “How the...”

“I told you, Bobby, I don’t know.”

The boy didn’t sound like he much cared either. Bobby supposed there was no need to be looking a gift horse in the mouth, so long as it wasn’t really a Trojan horse in disguise.

“Well, it’s good to have you back, son.” Bobby lifted his cap to scratch his head. “I guess I need to be talking to your brother.”

Bobby stood in the kitchen doorway and watched Dean struggle to talk to Ben like everything was okay. By the look on Ben’s face, the kid wasn’t buying a word of it, but he was playing the same stoic card that Dean always had. When Dean turned to see him, Bobby gave him a nod.

Momentarily Dean stopped mixing up Mary’s formula and turned his full attention to Ben. “How about you get settled upstairs and uh...I’ll be up in a little bit, okay?”

“Sure,” Ben replied. The boy looked uneasy as he peeked out of the kitchen towards Sam and then back to his dad. “You sure you’ll be okay alone?”

While Dean’s mouth opened, nothing came out. He was obviously struggling like hell just to keep it together. Bobby stepped in with a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

“He ain’t gonna be alone,” Bobby promised. “I’m gonna keep a real close eye on him. Now you get on upstairs and get some fresh blankets in your little sister’s crib.” 

“Okay.”

Ben’s eyes went once more to Dean who tried to crack a smile. With a little effort, Ben returned one that was equally sad before turning and heading up the stairs. Dean leaned to watch Ben go, keeping an eye to make sure Sam didn’t follow.

“He’s really your brother, Dean.”

The words brought a storm of emotions to Dean’s face. It was what Dean had wanted, what he’d been killing himself trying to get, but Bobby could see that Dean couldn’t believe it anymore than he could.

“Angels? Why now?” Dean asked. “Why is all this happening now?”

“I wish I could tell you.”

Dean turned his attention back to the formula, nearly knocking the container over with his shaking hands. “Damn it!”

“I got this,” Bobby said as he shooed Dean away.

The boy looked like he was going to argue but was too tired to do it. Dean walked a few steps away before leaning back against the counter. His eyes looked up past the ceiling as he took in several deep breaths. Carefully he readjusted Mary’s weight in his arms. He clutched her tightly to his chest and placed a soft kiss on her head before burying his cheek against her hair.

Bobby put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Who the hell am I kidding, Bobby?” Dean’s desperate eyes pleaded to him. “If Lisa’s gone...I can’t do this.”

“Don’t you even think it. I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told your daddy. It’s family first and we’ll figure out the rest.”

Swaying Mary in his arms, Dean walked away. “Yeah, because my dad did such a bang up job.”

“Your stubborn ass father never listened to me. You’re not him, Dean.”

“I know. He was twice the man I’ll ever be and he still couldn’t swing it.”

“Boy, you’ve got the thickest damn skull of anyone I’ve ever met!” Bobby declared as he slammed the pot on the stove.

Dean startled and turned back to Bobby with a question in his hurt eyes. The tears were so close to falling that Bobby could barely stand to look at him without losing it himself.

“There ain’t no one, and I mean no one, who’d give half of what you’ve given in the name of family,” Bobby explained. “John loved you boys, he really did, but he was the hunt.”

Suddenly Dean looked real interested in the grungy tiles of the kitchen floor. “I told Ben everything my dad told me, Bobby. Now go ahead and tell me how much better of a father I am.”

“Did you beat it into his head? Did you make him responsible for his family while you drowned yourself in self-pity or did you tell him what he needed to know in case something happened to you?” Bobby glared daggers into Dean who didn’t so much as peep a word of contradiction. “That’s what I thought.”

The kitchen fell into silence aside from Mary’s soft mutterings. When Dean raised his head a tear track was trying to cut through the smear of blood over his face. “If I hadn’t been chasing a dead demon Lisa would still be alive.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes. “Did you see a body?”

“What?” Dean’s face wrinkled in confusion. When he spoke Bobby could barely make out the words. “I saw her die, Bobby.”

“You saw her get attacked. Were you lying when you said there was no body?”

“No, but, Sam...”

“Sam might be your brother, but he ain’t right. He don’t know what’s going on and until you’re holding her body in your arms there’s still a chance. Don’t you go giving up. Your kids need you. Now give me my grandchild and hit the shower.”

Instead of handing his daughter over, Dean wrapped his arms more fully around her. “If there’s a chance Lisa’s out there, I’m not gonna go have private time with Mr. Bubbles.”

“Dean, how’d you feel stitching up your dad?” Dean blinked at the question, his jaw clenching. “Ben doesn’t need to be seeing his daddy caked in blood. You can tell him you’re fine all you want, but you look like you got run over by a Mac truck.”

Reluctantly Dean unfolded his arms from Mary and transferred her to Bobby. She giggled as she leaned against Bobby’s flannel, reaching up to play with his beard. She was one of the prettiest little blonds he’d ever laid eyes on. Here she was a bright bundle of possibilities, just like the broken young man standing in front of him had once been. He wasn’t going to watch the next generation of Winchesters be as damned as the last two.

“We’re gonna figure this out,” Bobby promised Dean. “Just go take a couple minutes to get yourself together first. You know I got the kids until then.”

~~~

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t trust Bobby with his kids. Bobby was the only one outside of Lisa he’d ever even consider leaving them with. It was just that having his kids out of his sight right now was more than Dean could take. Somehow, seeing his brother hurt nearly as bad.

Sam being back, it was supposed to fix everything. In his mind Dean had always held onto the thought that if only he could get Sam back then the world would be all with the sunshine and puppies. That moment was here and he was just confused and bordering on sick. He wasn’t sure what of his emotions were about Sam and what was about Lisa.

His brother sat on the worn, stained cushions of Bobby’s couch with his hands folded, elbows resting on his knees. Physically it was Sam, but on another level Dean didn’t even recognize the guy. There was a hardness and detachment there that was the opposite of how Dean thought of his brother.

“How long?” Dean finally asked. Sam looked up and raised a questioning brow. “How long was it for you in the cage?”

Sam shrugged. “Not long.”

As he stepped closer Dean nailed Sam with a skeptical glare. “So time down there...?”

“Same as hell I guess.”

“It would’ve been over two hundred years, Sam. You telling me that ain’t long in hell? Save it for someone who hasn’t been there.”

Sam had another thing coming if he thought he was getting away with playing the a-okay card. In full Technicolor detail Dean knew first hand what demons did to the soul that sent them back to the pit. They’d surely broken out the good china for the one that had sent Lucifer packing.

“I’ve been back for almost two years, Dean.”

For a long moment Dean just stared at Sam, his face a mask of disbelief. Obviously he’d hit his head harder than he’d thought or the gunshots had damaged his hearing. “Excuse you?”

“Whatever pulled me out, it did it pretty damn fast.”

It might as well have been a sucker punch straight to his bruised ribs. “Where’ve you been, freakin’ Antarctica?”

With his expression remaining unreadable, Sam met Dean’s eyes. “I’ve been on the road. Hunting.”

Dean had to grab a seat before his legs collapsed from beneath him. He rubbed his hands over his swimming head. Over a dozen times he’d considered risking the entire world to free Sam and that whole time his brother had just been going around like it was business as usual.

“Alone? Did your phone card expire?”

While his eyes were still neutral, Sam sat a little straighter on the couch. “I tried to call. You changed your number.”

“Last month, Sam. I let the old cell phone number go two weeks ago. We’re talking about two years. You get out of hell you call your damn brother!” Sam was unfazed and Dean was within inches of strangling him until another thought hit him. “Was this your way of finally getting rid of me?”

Dean wanted the words to sound spiteful. He wanted to look angry. By the pitiful look Sam was sending him he knew he only sounded as uselessly pathetic as he was.

“Finally getting you out of hunting. You got a family, Dean, a real family. It’s what you wanted.”

“You got no right to tell me what I wanted!” Dean shot back. He jumped out of the chair to pace in front of Sam. “If you’d come, Lisa would still be alive, Ben would still have a mom and Mary would’ve never been...”

Knowing full well that he shouldn’t have brought that girl into this world didn’t stop Dean from chocking on the words. She, Ben and Lisa had become his world and he wasn’t all that interested in living in a world that didn’t have them in it.

“I’ve seen you with Mary.” Sam’s tone was so calm Dean again wanted to smack him. “You love that baby more than anything.”

“Damn straight. That’s why I’d rather she’d never been born than been born a Winchester. She’s not even six months old and they’re already after her, Sam! I couldn’t save you; I can’t save her.”

By the look on Sam’s face Dean might as well have been speaking Swahili. “Dean, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m alive.”

“Surviving isn’t enough. I’m not gonna let them be us all over again.”

“And that’s why you ain’t never gonna make the same mistakes your daddy did,” Bobby said.

Dean turned quickly to see Bobby standing in the doorway with Mary rested sleepily against him and Ben stood at his side. Bobby’s hand was on Ben’s shoulder and he gave it a squeeze. “You’re a damn lucky kid to have that man for your father.”

“Bobby...”

“I don’t wanna hear nothing out of you. You’re supposed to be in the shower. You got a fresh set of clothes waiting for you on the bed, now git. Your brother needs some time with his niece and nephew.”

His brother. Sam was back. Lisa was gone. Mary and Ben were practically orphans. It was too much to process. Standing lightheaded in the living room, Dean hung in the space between too numb to feel and so flooded with emotion that it hurt just to exist.

“Yeah,” he muttered before quickly turning away.

Upstairs Dean grabbed the clothes from the bed and headed straight into the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he tossed the clothes onto the counter. He hesitated before turning on the sink and splashing cold water over his face. With more force than needed he scrubbed the blood from his cheeks and brow. He patted his face dry before settling on the edge of the tub. The toilet would’ve been more comfortable, but even he couldn’t summon a prayer on the john.

His eyes shifted up to the ceiling. He hadn’t heard from Castiel since the angel had renewed his full out dick of the Lord status. Even if no one would listen to his prayers for Sam, maybe they’d at least listen about innocent kids and their mom.

“Castiel?” His tone wavered, the words barely a whisper. “I need you, man. Lisa, she’s gone and Sam...I’m gonna lose them all. I just need something, anything. Cas, please.”

Dean didn’t know how long he’d sat waiting on the edge of the tub, but it was long enough for his ass to start going numb. He didn’t know why he bothered. Typical dick.

“You son of a bitch, I’m drowning here!” Dean hissed. “You can’t take two goddamn seconds out of your kiss ass cloud hopping to send me a raft?” He swiped at his cheeks. Blaming Castiel would be easy, but it wasn’t fair. Dean had managed to screw this up all on his own. “I’m sorry. I just need to know if she’s alive.” His eyes fell closed. “Please let her be alive.”

It wasn’t like the butt load of silence he got in reply surprised him. “Forget it. I’ll figure something out.”

Grunting as he stood, Dean tried to work some of the feeling back into his thighs. He started to shrug off his over shirt when the phone in his pocket rang. After a quick glance to the number he didn’t recognize he shove the phone against his ear.

“Cas?”

“Winchester.”

Unless Cas had dumped his Jimmy suit that voice sure as hell didn’t belong to his angel. “Who is this?”

“Father Reed of St. Peter’s Church.”

“Look, padre, if this is about my donation...”

“It’s about your wife.”

His body went rigid. He was afraid to ask in case he had heard the man wrong. At the same time he knew he hadn’t. There was a chill in the man’s tone. This wasn’t a Good Samaritan call.

“You better pray she’s alive you sick bastard.”

Father Reed’s voice remained monotone. “She’s being cared for, but her stitches can be removed far easier than they were applied.”

Dean’s grip on the phone was almost hard enough to crush it. “What do you want?”

“Does it matter? Whatever it is, you’ll give it.” The man’s voice was distant like he was holding the phone away from himself. “Speak to him.”

“Dean?” The voice was weak, but it was unquestionably Lisa’s. Her next words were spoken so quickly he could barely make them out. “Don’t you even think about...”

In the next moment it was again Father Reed talking. “Come to your neighborhood St. Peter’s Church prepared to surrender yourself to God’s will.”

The man hung up before Dean could pull together a reply. Tentative relief hit him so fast it left him paralyzed. He stood frozen with the phone still to his ear. There was a hundred ways for him to screw this up, but it wasn’t over. Lisa was still alive.

“Your life raft sucks ass,” he muttered, glaring up at the ceiling. “But thanks.”

Leaving the bathroom, Dean jogged down the stairs. He froze at the base of the steps. In Bobby’s cluttered living room his brother sat on one end of the couch awkwardly holding Mary in his arms, staring into her eyes with the awe she deserved. Ben sat between Sam and Bobby almost smiling. For the first time Sam almost looked okay. They all did.

Even if he didn’t come back, they’d be all right. Lisa was the one the kids needed and Bobby and Sam, they could protect her. Worse case scenario, even with Lisa gone Bobby would be twice the parent Dean could ever be.

“Awfully dry hair for a shower,” Bobby said.

Dean stood for a moment like a deer caught in the headlights before pushing himself forward. Seeing him, Sam again stiffened. Dean tried not to notice.

“Just talked to Cas, we got a plan.”

“For what?” Bobby asked.

“To save Lisa.” Dean looked up from the floor to meet Bobby’s eyes. “She’s alive, Bobby.”

Bobby shoved off the couch and pulled Dean into his arms. Trying not to let his desperation show, Dean clutched Bobby back, burying his head against his shoulder. It was the closest thing to goodbye he was going to get to say. 

Pulling back, Bobby clutched Dean’s shoulders. “You gonna start listening to me now?” 

“Probably not.”

With a chuckle, Bobby’s hand came up to touch Dean’s cheek. “You okay, son?”

Dean’s eyes flicked past Bobby to his brother and kids. “Yeah.”

“So what do we need to do?” Sam asked.

“I’m meeting Cas there, but it’s gotta be just me.”

Dean walked over to Sam and held his arms out to take Mary. His throat tightened as her joyful eyes found his. He tried to force a smile to match hers and tried just as hard to keep his breath steady when his hand brushed against Sam’s as they made the transfer.

“You be a good girl for, daddy, okay?” he whispered to Mary. When he spoke to the others he didn’t dare look up. “So can you guys handle the kids?”

Sam shot him a look. “You’re going after these people alone while we baby sit?”

“Dude, I’m not going alone. Cas will be there.”

Part of Dean believed that just because he had to. With Sam the likelihood of getting Lisa out alive was non-existent. If he went alone it was one step up from not a chance. His only option was to pray that Castiel was planning on sending more than a phone call.

Choosing his words carefully, Dean looked between Sam and Bobby. “So what do we actually know about these guys?”

“Nothing good,” Bobby said. “We know they want a restart on the apocalypse and we’re pretty damn sure they got the book that’ll give them the closest chance at it.”

“How sure are we about this book?”

“You said it was in your truck, right?” Bobby asked. “Well, Rufus, he went over to take care of the bodies and he checked the truck. It wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, but I mean the ritual. Are we talking about fruit loops with delusions of grandeur or are we really talking Apocalypse Now Redux?”

Sam stood and walked closer. Quickly Dean shifted his eyes away from Sam’s penetrating look. “What did Castiel say?"

“He wasn’t in a real chatty mood,” Dean replied. “You know angels. I just wanna know if we need smite first and ask questions later.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Bobby nodded in agreement. “It’d be my vote too. This thing was scribed by demons. We know it can crack into hell. We just don’t know how far.” Dean hugged his baby one last time before laying her into Bobby’s arms. “Dean...”

“Yeah, Bobby?”

“You be careful. These kids need you as much as they need their mom.”

“I know.” Dean had gotten damn good at lying. After a careful breath he looked to his brother. “Sam, I’m glad you’re back. Even if you didn’t want me to know.”

“It wasn’t like that, Dean.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Seriously, it doesn’t matter.” His eyes went to the only person in the room that was giving him the evil eye. “Ben, I need to talk to you upstairs.”

Ben hopped off the couch and followed after him. “What’s really going on?” Ben asked when they were alone in the bedroom. “Cas is the angel, right?”

“That’s right.” Dean kneeled down so that he was at eye level with Ben. “I haven’t heard from him.”

For a long moment Ben just stared at him. “But you said...”

“I lied, Ben, and I need you to do the same unless Cas shows up and then you have to tell him to meet me at the St. Peter’s Church, you got it?”

“Yeah, but what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get Mom back. Ben, no matter what it takes, I’m gonna bring your mom home.”

“What about my dad?”

Dean faltered. It took him a minute to figure out who Ben was even talking about. Of course the kid was his son, but Ben had never referred to him as anything other than his name. Without having words, Dean pulled Ben into his arms.

“I’ll take care of Mary,” Ben said into his ear, “but Dad, I want you to come back too.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Sam had told his brother to go live some normal apple pie life, he hadn’t honestly even known what that meant. He’d just wanted Dean to be safe and he knew Dean wouldn’t be safe hunting alone. Dean wasn’t cut out for it. Solo hunting required a cold disregard that just wasn’t Dean. His brother had always cared too much for his own good.

Sending Dean to start a family had made sense. Kids loved him and Dean loved them. It was supposed to be the easy life, working a nine to five and kicking back with the family on the weekends. Instead of being at peace Dean was the most broken Sam had ever seen him. The more stories he heard from Bobby the more he realized Dean’s life was still filled with fear and worry. It wasn’t peace; it was just more of the same with struggling to hold a steady job and childcare heaped on top of it.

For Sam the last two years had been spent caring about nothing. It was just killing and moving on then killing something else. There was no fear. With no connections he had nothing to lose. That had been his refuge, but now he was holding a baby, his niece, in his arms and he still couldn’t feel a damn thing.

After seeing the shattered pain in his brother’s eyes he couldn’t help but think that not feeling was for the better. Even if he couldn’t feel with his heart, logic still told him that Dean was going through hell. The numbness was easier.

“Not like that,” Ben said. “It’s backwards.”

Mary lay on Bobby’s coffee table while Ben flipped around the diaper and Sam held his breath. Ben quickly returned to guarding the edges of the table like a goalie. With her feet kicking in the air Mary didn’t look like she was going anywhere to Sam, but he’d basically never touched a baby before. He sure didn’t know what to do with one or what it was going to do. 

With a wrinkled nose Sam dropped the reeking diaper into the garbage bag. “Dean must avoid this like the plague.”

Bobby came back with two mugs of coffee and shot Sam a surprised look. “We talking about the kid that was wiping your ass before he learned his ABCs?”

“Who?” Sam’s brow creased as he worked on fastening Mary’s clean diaper.

“Dean, your brother. Who the hell do you think was changing your diapers while your daddy was on a bender? That kid was a dad since the day you boys lost your mom.”

The smiling baby reached towards Sam, trying to grab for his long bangs. Sam stayed just out of reach as he stared down at it then looked to Ben. He’d never actually thought about it. Growing up he had depended on Dean for almost everything. He’d just never stopped to consider what everything entailed.

“I’ll be upstairs.” At Ben’s sighed words Sam glanced up to see that Bobby was giving the kid a suggestive look. Ben grumbled as he fished an iPod out of his backpack. “But I’m old enough to hear whatever you’re gonna say.”

“You wanna be rested for when your folks get back, don’t you?” Bobby asked.

Ben gave a reluctant nod and headed up the stairs. Once the bedroom door shut Bobby turned his full attention to Sam. “Don’t just stare at her, pick her up,” Bobby said with a gesture towards Mary.

“You go for it, Bobby.”

There was something about the baby that was starting to hurt. It clenched at his heart and was making it damn hard to hold onto the numbness he needed to stay sane.

“Do you really think your brother just settled down and forgot who he was?” Bobby asked.

Sam didn’t reply as he watched Bobby lovingly lift the baby only to lay her onto Sam’s lap. Uneasily Sam repositioned her, trying to compensate for the fact she wouldn’t hold still.

“Once your brother was sure Lisa was pregnant he came over here cursing himself for letting it happen, but he did it with a ring in his pocket because your brother ain’t never shied away from responsibility.”

Nodding to himself, Sam lifted the baby in question into his arms. “That’s when Dean married Lisa.”

“Took him three months to talk that girl into marrying him. She loves your brother and he loves her, but she knew that baby was the only reason he was proposing.” A smile came to Bobby’s weary face. “’Course you know your brother. He don’t take no for an answer. We all drove back to Lawrence for the ceremony. You know why?”

“It was his home?”

“No, you idjit. ‘Cause it was the last place he saw you alive. Marrying, having that baby, the whole damn while he was only half there because he needed you.”

While Sam was fine with letting the silence hang, Bobby glared expectantly. “I was doing what was best for him.”

“And how do you think the boy that raised you, who based his entire life around you, feels that you couldn’t bother to mention you were alive?”

The baby propped against Sam was busy trying to tear a button off his shirt. Distantly Sam watched her stubborn effort. Even though her pudgy little fingers couldn’t get a real grip on it, she was determined. When it still didn’t happen she decided to change tactics and try to chew it off. She really was Dean’s daughter.

“He was better off away from hunting.”

Bobby leaned over to take Mary’s mouth off the button. After a long drink from his mug, he stared back at Sam. “You think he just left it alone? Up until a few hours ago I was having to talk him down from every stupid thing you could think of. The only thing that stopped him from killing himself trying to get you back was these kids of his.”

A phone in the kitchen started ringing. Bobby growled as he pushed out of his chair. “Is it Dean?” Sam called after him.

“Nah, just someone calling for the FBI. Get Mary on up to bed, will you?”

Before Sam could argue Bobby was locked in another argument over the phone and Sam was left with his niece staring expectantly up at him. She was right to look concerned about his qualifications.

At the top of the stairs Sam all but tripped over Ben. The boy scrambled to his feet, backing away from Sam and shooting him a suspicious look. Sam wasn’t actually surprised that the boy was eavesdropping there. It was something he would have done as a kid.

“You want her?” Sam asked with a nod towards the baby.

“Yeah,” Ben replied hesitantly. He looked half sure it was a trick, but reached up to take Mary from Sam’s arms. Protectively Ben held his little sister to his chest and backed away from Sam.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt your dad.” Ben froze and seemed to be deciding whether or not to believe him. “We’re brothers, you know. Sometimes we’re a little rough.”

“So are you my uncle?”

This whole niece and nephew business was a more than Sam could deal with right now. Yesterday he had no one and he was suddenly being dropped into the middle of this family that wasn’t his. Uncle wasn’t a title he was ready to take on.

“I’m your dad’s brother.”

Ben glanced away thoughtfully before looking back at Sam as if he was a little slow. “Like an uncle…”

“I’m just his brother.”

With his eyes narrowed, Ben stared at Sam. “How’s that different than an uncle?”

“Okay, I’m your uncle.” Talk about déjà vu. If Sam’s heart hadn’t been killing him before, it was now. He clenched his jaw as he shook his head at the kid. “And you’re really his son.”

“Dude, I know.”

Ben turned away and headed towards the bedroom. When he did Sam saw the handle of the Colt sticking out from the back of Ben’s jeans. After a moment’s hesitation Sam followed after the kid. He leaned in the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Ben lay Mary into the crib.

“How much training do you do?” Sam asked.

Turning back towards him, Ben shrugged. “Like three nights a week. Do you play baseball too?”

“Baseball?” That would’ve gone over real big with Dad. Sam shook his head and pointed towards the gun. “No, I mean shooting.”

The kid’s eyes went wide as he reached back and pulled his shirt over the gun. “Please don’t tell Grandpa Bobby.” Sam only sent Ben a questioning look. “Dean would be totally pissed if he knew I had this and Mom would so freak out,” Ben explained. “I’m not supposed to touch these things.”

“You sure looked like you knew how to use it.”

A flash of pride sparkled in the kid’s eyes before Ben went on to stare at his sneakers. “I was just copying my dad.”

“And he's never showed you how to use a gun?”

Ben shook his head. At first Sam was too appalled to say anything. Of all people Dean should know better than to leave a kid defenseless. Ben was plenty old enough to be handling a weapon. He got that Dean was trying to keep his kids out of hunting, but teaching them self-defense was a pretty basic concept.

“Let me see it.” Sam walked into the room and held his hand out. He gave the gun a quick glance over before handing it back to Ben and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “For starters, it’s empty. I’ll grab you some more bullets when I go downstairs. Let me show you how to load it.”

While Ben hesitated for a second, he then hopped up on the bed beside Sam. Teaching a kid to shoot was one of the last things he felt like doing, but he needed something to distract him. They were sitting around waiting for Dean to run to the rescue when he was barely up to walking.

~~~

If not for the thick layer of storm clouds, the sun might have been beginning to light the sky by the time the Impala’s engine went silent outside the church. Dean had driven past this place a hundred times on his way to work. The building was nice enough with its tall roof and stained glass windows but now it just looked foreboding as hell. 

Dean shoved open the heavy door to the old church and tentatively peered inside. It wasn’t the dark emptiness he had expected. The wooden pews were packed full, not with demons, but with families. There were kids and their parents and little old ladies that looked like they were going to go play bridge once the service ended.

It would’ve looked like an early Sunday mass if not for the fact it was Tuesday and there was a creepy-ass look on the face of everyone that had turned to stare at him. Nervously he swallowed, stepping forward and letting the door fall shut with a resounding, resolute thud. It wasn’t like he could turn back now.

Looking down the long aisle, his eyes fell on the man standing at the front altar. With folded hands the man considered Dean before speaking. “You have come to submit yourself to heaven’s rule?”

By his voice Dean recognized the man as Father Reed. The so-called Father wore the standard white alb and full mass getup like there wasn’t anything insanely wrong here. It was only his eyes that gave him away as the evil son of a bitch he really was. The eyes weren’t black, but they were cold enough that they might as well have been.

“Yeah...sure.”

Father Reed motioned for him to step forward. Before complying Dean scanned the crowd. While he didn’t see Lisa, several other faces stood out. The two bastards he had only knocked unconscious at his house sat near the front both sporting darkened bruises that verified their identity.

A few rows back was the boy who had come by selling cookies. Dean stared at him, but unlike the others, the kid wouldn’t meet his eyes. Disorientation was replaced with anger as he took in the curious expressions of most of the children present. It answered his question about what kind of parents would leave their kid out in a storm.

“Let us all join our choir in praise of the Lord and give thanks for the delivery of justice,” Father Reed said. “For it is joy to the just to do judgment, but destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity.”

Everyone rose to their feet and began to sing. Dean raised a disbelieving brow to the joyful choir music, but the people who had his attention were the two that remained silent. With disturbingly warm smiles on their bruised faces the men he recognized stepped into the aisle in front of him. Dean’s muscles coiled but he forced himself to walk towards them. When they reached out for him, he dodged back.

“I’m not handing my ass over until I see my wife.”

“Dean?”

Shoving past the men, Dean found Lisa lying on the front pew. Her usually lively face was pale and pained, her eyes groggy, but she was breathing. Hurriedly his hands pushed up the edge of the blouse they’d dressed her in to see the bandaging on her abdomen. 

“They took care of it.” Lisa pulled his hands away from the bandages and held them tightly. “You shouldn’t have come. Dean, they’ll kill you.”

Ignoring her words, Dean squeezed her trembling hands. The singing had stopped and everyone was again sitting. Dean looked over his shoulder to Father Reed. “When we’re done here, you’ll let her go?”

“We have no reason to harm her. She’s only here to ensure that your track record of treachery ceases.”

Dean leaned forward to kiss Lisa before working his hands free from hers. “Tell Ben I’m sorry.”

“What? Dean, no.”

Stepping back from her, Dean held his arms out in surrender. He chocked down the urge to fight back when the two men came up on either side of him. While he expected a few retribution punches, they only slipped off his over shirt and patted him down for weapons. They set the shirt beside Lisa while Dean tried not to hear her protests.

He kept his eyes lowered as they jerked his arms behind his back. Tightly they bound his wrists together before leading him up the steps to join Father Reed at the altar. His breaths were shallow as he tried to focus on taking in the surroundings and finding an out for Lisa.

While his desperate eyes darted around he was met with the smiling faces of those that filled the church. Despite his better judgment, his eyes returned to Lisa’s.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed to her.

She shook her head with defiance in her eyes and stiffly struggled to sit up on the pew. While he wanted to tell her to stay still, Father Reed began to speak before Dean could get the words out.

“I would like all present to take a moment to call to mind the reason we have come together on this glorious day. And it is a glorious day, for today is our day. Scripture tells of the war in heaven in which Michael and his angels fight against the serpent we know as Satan and they are cast out into the earth.”

As Father Reed spoke Dean’s blood pressure steadily rose to the boiling point. The story might be all cute to those gathered in the church but Dean had lived it. He had lost everything in that battle. Because of it Lisa was lying half dead in the Church of the Clinically Insane and his possibly insane little brother was going to be left to raise his children.

“That war is upon us and we are all soldiers in the army alongside Michael and his angels and with him we will march against the troops of Azazel.”

Just hearing that name was enough to set a cold chill over Dean. Slowly he looked over to the priest while those watching from the pews were lost in their ‘amen’ praising. “Are you boys late on all your news?” Dean asked. “That son of a bitch is dead.”

Beneath his glasses, the priest’s eyes darkened as he leaned in towards Dean and spoke a low warning in his ear. “Don’t speak of things which you know nothing of.”

“I should know.” Dean returned the man’s cold glare. “I was the one that killed him.”

“You returned him to hell?” Father Reed’s words took on a tone of genuine interest.

“No, I killed his ass. Permanently. I’m telling you, padre, Yellow Eyes is old news.”

“You were his end?” That priest’s lips upturned like it was funny. He leaned forward to examine Dean so closely that he felt like a bug beneath a microscope. “Azazel took great pleasure in the molding of your brother, but he didn’t think you were even worth disposing of. Pride before the fall.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “How the hell could you know that?”

“The Lord brings to the surface all truths. On your knees.”

“What?”

When Dean didn’t move Father Reed gave a sharp nod to the men on either side of him. His legs were kicked out from beneath him. It was only the tight grips on his arms that stopped him from falling on his face. When his knees thudded against the ground the impact jarred through his body.

“Heaven’s servant kneels in prayer with us,” the priest announced.

Dean shot a look up to the man, his voice low. “I thought I was the heretic.”

The priest kneeled down beside him, mouth to his ear. “You are whatever I command you to be and with cleansing you can be what we need you to be. When I say kneel, you kneel. When I say stand, you stand. No more words.”

Rising, the man stood over him to address the congregation. “This blessed messenger has brought word of Azazel’s fall. Our time is truly now. Let us come together in prayer and preparation for the feast.”


	9. Chapter 9

Visually no one except Dean would have noticed, but there was a twitch at the corner of Sam’s lips. The atrophied muscles tugged up ever so slightly as he stretched out on the shabby cushions of Bobby’s couch. Dean’s daughter snuggled beside him. She giggled with pure joy as she batted at his bangs.

Her brilliant blue eyes shone up at him with a kind of trusting innocence that Sam didn’t even realize existed. All he’d come to see in the world was the brutality and evil. Yet there wasn’t a hint of anything but good in the tiny life beside him. 

That alone was enough to blow his mind. Then there was the fact that she was his niece. After all the ugliness they’d faced, after everything they had suffered, his brother had brought this life into the world.

The slight trace of a smile vanished when he looked down at Ben. The kid was lying on his stomach on the floor with his head held in his hands and his legs kicking back and forth impatiently in the air. Instead of the pure hope of Mary’s eyes, Ben wore a mask of worry that had been the norm for Dean when they were growing up.

Despite his stubborn attempts to stay awake, Ben’s heavy eyelids started to droop. His legs almost hit the floor before the boy woke up enough to catch them.

Bobby cleared his throat. “What happened to you being in bed?”

“Uncle Sam said I could stay up,” Ben mumbled. “Besides, I’m not sleepy.”

At Bobby’s questioning glance Sam shrugged. He wasn’t sure if Ben calling him uncle or him telling Ben he didn’t have to go to bed was the subject of the stare. Either way it didn’t require an explanation.

He didn’t want the kid calling him anything other than Sam, but Dean had decided that the boy was his son and Ben was as stubborn as Dean. As far as sleep, it wasn’t like he and Dean had a bedtime growing up and the kid's parents were missing. He wasn't going to sleep soundly tonight no matter where he was laying. 

“If you’re staying up, at least get yourself in a chair,” Bobby replied.

Standing up, Bobby motioned for Ben to take his seat. Sam repositioned himself and Mary on the couch as Bobby settled down beside them. When Bobby tickled Mary her grin grew all the wider.

It wasn’t long before Ben was curled up in the chair with his head slumped to the side. Once the boy was out, Bobby looked to Sam. “Your brother, he’s done real good with both these kids.”

“I guess it all worked out for the best.”

Sam tried to hand Mary back to Bobby, but Bobby just crossed his arms over his chest. “She likes you. And Sam, Dean has worked his ass off to be right for this family of his, but he hasn’t been right. Not since....”

If Bobby finished his sentence Sam didn’t hear it. In a flurry of movement Sam set aside Mary and jumped from the couch with his gun raised. He slowly lowered the weapon when the dark figure that had appeared behind Ben stepped far enough into the light for Sam to see the long trench coat.

Castiel’s brow furrowed as he strode towards them. The angel took in the room and looked over each of them. Apparently dissatisfied, he tilted his head and locked eyes with Sam. “Where is Dean?”

At Castiel’s words Ben startled awake and leapt from the chair. Bobby motioned for the boy to come to his side while exchanging a worried look with Sam. After a moment Bobby too was on his feet with Mary tucked against his flannel.

“Dean’s with you, ain’t he?” Bobby asked Castiel.

“If that was so, why would I ask for his whereabouts? He called. I was...occupied.”

A sick feeling settled into Sam’s gut as he played back Dean’s behavior in his mind. There had been something eerily familiar about it. Sam had passed it off as Dean under stress but in truth he had known that look. It was the same look Dean had given him before taking off to try to say yes to Michael.

Sam narrowed his eyes on Castiel. “You two really haven’t talked?”

“No.” Castiel replied sharply. “I think I made that clear with...”

“Damn it!” Bobby growled. “That boy’s gonna be the death of me yet.”

Ben stepped away from Bobby and tentatively approached the angel. “Are you Cas?”

“I am the angel Castiel.”

A mix of relief and worry flooded over Ben’s face. “Dean went to St Peter’s Church.” When he spoke the words spilled quickly from his mouth. “You gotta hurry and go save him.”

When the irritation hit Sam he wasn’t sure if it was directed towards Ben or Dean, but he couldn’t keep the disbelief from his tone. “You knew?”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell.” Ben and Dean might as well be the same person. The kid had fully adopted Dean’s shamelessness when it came to defending family, even when they were wrong. “But I think he’s going to do something bad. He was talking funny.”

“He’s unlikely to survive,” Castiel agreed. “This was a legitimate church corrupted by Azazel’s extended possession of their priest. Their practices are archaic and they are attempting to free Michael from Lucifer’s cage.”

“Any other good news?” Bobby stared at Castiel for a moment before a realization settled over his face. “You’re here because you think they can actually do it.”

“Azazel’s command of the church is far enough past that they fail in an understanding of the timeline. They do, however possess enough insight to be a legitimate threat. We must go now.”

“Sam? You still with us, kid?”

His fists were curled painfully tight when Sam looked back up to Bobby. Azazel, Michael, they were all things Dean wasn’t supposed to have to worry about anymore. They were the things Sam had tried to send his brother away from, the reason he had stayed away all this time.

“You stay with them, Bobby.” Sam motioned to Ben and Mary before his expression hardened. “I’m gonna take care of this. They’re not forcing Michael on Dean again.”

“Nor will they try,” Castiel agreed. “They have no interest in Dean’s body, only in his blood sacrifice.”

~~~

The church’s basement was filled with lively conversation and kids running around after each other. If one more person smiled at him, Dean was going to start snapping necks. As far as he could tell everyone here was either seriously high or permanently brain damaged.

Dean kept a couple of steps behind Father Reed. His hands were unbound, but blood trickled from his nose and oozed slowly from a cut over his brow. There were a lot of points that he and the priest didn’t agree on. While Dean had clamped his mouth shut for a lot of the priest’s crap, he could only take so much of the sick bastard’s verbal replay of what Yellow Eyes had done to his family. The last few weeks had already torn that wound wide open. He wasn’t going to kneel idly by while the ghost of the demon poked it with a stick.

He bit his lip and clenched his fists while random people reached out to touch him as he walked by. The only thing that stopped him from slugging every one of them was the fact that half of them were kids, a lot of the others were girls and he was too distracted trying to again find Lisa.

Father Reed had taken him into private for their little conversation. The priest wanted him to look willing for the congregation. Until Lisa was out of here, Dean didn’t have a choice in complying.

“Hurry up, Cas,” Dean muttered beneath his breath.

The priest shot him a look and Dean just kept his eyes fixed ahead until he saw a baby, just a little older than Mary, crawling beneath one of the buffet tables. He leaned to watch it before turning to look for the accompanying parent. The kid was crawling over people’s feet and no one seemed to notice.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” Dean spoke the words just loud enough for the priest’s ears.

Father Reed sent him a warning glare that Dean only returned in kind. Dean cringed as the baby hauled across the aisle and nearly got stepped on before heading beneath another table. She plopped down on her droopy diaper and tried to stuff a fallen cookie into her mouth.

“Seriously,” Dean said, louder this time. “Hey, will someone get that kid already.” A couple of the girls who had touched him, but neither who looked old enough to be the mothers, went to retrieve the baby. “Thank you,” Dean grumbled.

When Father Reed cleared his throat, Dean shot a challenging glare to the priest who shook his head disapprovingly. He might be playing along for show, but Dean had already told the son of a bitch where he could shove his disapproval.

Near the front of the room Dean finally found Lisa, propped up in a chair and sitting at the head of one of the plastic tablecloth covered tables. He let himself breath until the sickly glow of the basement’s florescent lighting caught the glint of tears she was fighting.

“Take your place,” Father Reed ordered.

After another glance to Lisa, Dean followed the priest up a couple of steps onto a low stage and knelt down at his side. The room grew hushed before Father Reed began the Lord’s Prayer. Dean shifted uncomfortably beside the man as he watched the room full of followers chant along.

This would be a hell of a lot easier if he and Lisa were the only ones he had to worry about getting hurt. While he could take out Father Reed, the room was crammed full of people. The majority might just be screwed up civilians, but even he couldn’t take out an entire congregation of whackos unarmed and he couldn’t do it with a clean conscience unless he was sure it was life or death for Lisa.

Dean looked up at Father Reed after he released the crowd to begin their feast of aluminum foil wrapped main dishes and homemade cookies. “This the part where you fattened me up with potluck casseroles?”

“You are not partaking in our food.”

“Stingy bastard.”

Father Reed motioned for Dean to stand. “While they feast you will be cleansed. Shed your clothing.”

Dean looked out over the families circling the buffet tables and claiming their chairs. “Thanks, but I already got my sponge bath for the week.”

With his expression growing colder, the priest stepped close enough that his shoulder pressed against Dean’s. “It’s your spirit that is filthy.”

“Then how about I say my Hail Marys and we call it even?” Determination set over Dean’s face as he met Father Reed’s eyes. “I’m not stripping down in front of a bunch of kids.”

“They’ve all come to bear witness.”

“To my naked ass?”

“Unto the truth,” Father Reed corrected. “You swore allegiance to heaven?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Then obey.” The priest’s eyes went to Lisa and Dean stiffened. “Obey of your own free will or the will of heaven will be imposed onto you.”

Rage flared in Dean’s eyes as he gave a surrendering nod to the priest. While everyone sat down with their plates of food, he peeled off his t-shirt. He pretended not to hear Lisa’s quiet gasp at the sight of his discolored abdomen. While the adults might as well have been watching paint dry, a bunch of kids were staring at him wide eyed while he unzipped his pants. Looking away didn’t help. He could still feel theirs and Lisa’s eyes on him. 

“Through this cleansing of your soul you will repent your subversion of Michael and perversion of the Lord’s plans.”

“Perversion?” After kicking off his boots and letting his jeans pool on the floor, Dean cocked a brow at the priest. “You really wanna play who’s the biggest pervert right now?”

“Nothing is hidden in the eyes of the Lord.” As the room broke into an ‘amen’ the priest again leaned into Dean. “You will present me with respect or it will be your wife that receives your next beating.”

Looking past the priest, Dean caught Lisa’s terrified eyes. She was trying so hard to bite her tongue that he knew it wasn't herself that she was afraid for. His hands clenched around the elastic of his boxers as he wondered what threats the priest had whispered into her ear. He averted his eyes, pushed the boxers down and stepped away from the clothing.

Father Reed had already gone on to continue his preaching while some kids from the front chairs came and collected Dean’s clothes. “And he is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not for ours only, but also for the whole world.” Like he didn’t have enough sins of his own without the priest heaping more on him. “Through these acts we, along with him, will be made pure of past deceit.”

Dean straightened his awkward stance as three men came forward with long rattan canes in hand. When Father Reed spoke again it was only loud enough for Dean’s ears. “Hands behind your head.”

Taking in a deep breath, Dean reluctantly widened his stance. It wasn’t like he was actually hiding the goods as it was. With his feet shoulder width apart, he laced his hands behind his head and stared blankly ahead.

“Please don’t do this.”

It took Dean’s distracted mind a moment to realize that the words were coming from Lisa. She again fell silent as Father Reed’s eyes narrowed on her. If the bastard sent one more threatening look towards his wife heaven’s entire army wouldn’t be enough to stop Dean from killing the man here and now.

“Lisa...” Dean just shook his head silently pleading for her to keep quiet. More than anything he just didn’t want her to see or hear this. “Turn around.” The tears began to fall down her face as she shook her head.

“All will witness and all will obey,” Father Reed interrupted. “Begin.”

The men took up position around him. An initial grunt of surprise was knocked from Dean as the first slice of the cane lashed against the back of his thighs. Another stroke cut into his bruised side before the next landed across his shoulders.

Father Reed’s words of eternal love to the congregation at least took away the background silence. It wasn’t enough to overpower the swooshing of the canes or the sharp cracks against tender flesh. At the least it helped to disguise the muffled sounds he couldn’t bite back. 

As the canes searched out every untouched patch of skin, Dean gritted his teeth and settled in. He put his focus into just keeping his feet beneath him. The stinging slices split skin and brought rivulets of blood slowly welling to the surface of the cuts. 

Dean didn’t see the blood. He felt the hot liquid running down, but his eyes had closed. In his mind it wasn’t humans that surrounded him and it was the farthest thing from a church that he stood in. And for once it was easier to be there because this was the closest thing to a day off in hell.

It was Lisa calling his name that pulled him back to shivering cold of the church’s basement. He wasn’t sure at what point he had hit the ground, but the blows had stopped. His beaten muscles trembled in exhaustion and a mixture of cold sweat, tears and blood stung his eyes. It could be worse. It could still be his brother in hell.

“On your feet.”

At first Dean assumed that the words were meant for the people enjoying their chocolate chip cookies while he bled out, but when he found the energy to lift his head he saw Father Reed staring down at him expectantly. This guy really was one nut job of a son of a bitch if he thought Dean could stand right now.

It wasn’t the impatience in the priest’s eyes that got him to his knees. Past Father Reed Lisa looked ready to get out of her chair and come towards him. Dean reached a hand up to sloppily wipe his eyes clear and waved for Lisa to stay back. Once he was part way up, two of the men who had taken him to the ground helped him the rest of the way to his feet and led him to edge of stage. It took him a moment to realize he was staring down into the clear water of a baptismal pool.

A steadying arm around his waist replaced the hands holding his arms. He would’ve been grateful for the support if it wasn’t the priest from hell with his arm wrapped around Dean’s aching bare torso. Dean’s hands gripped the cool metal railings of the pool as he walked shakily down the steps. The water lapping at the gashes on his lower legs pulled a hiss from him. He knew what water felt like on a cut and this wasn’t just water.

“Salt water,” Father Reed explained at Dean's accusatory look. “The Lord guides us that every oblation of meat offering shall be seasoned with salt and the priest shall cast salt upon them, upon you - the offering unto the Lord.”

“You sound like the freakin’ apostle of Julia Child...son of a bitch!” Dean gasped as the priest guided him further down into the stinging water. “Don’t you think Michael’s gonna be pissed about you pickling his vessel?”

The words were only weak gasps and he knew it was more than he should say but as the water stained pink with his blood he was too close to shock to sensor himself. He barely registered Father Reed standing beside him.

“Do you repent to us and to the Lord your sins and accept Michael as the one and true savior of mankind?”

“Michael?” Dean blinked in confusion before a more relevant thought came to his mind. “This is what you were going to do to my daughter?”

“She has only original sin to repent for. It will be easier for her.”

“Will?” 

For the second time, Father Reed smiled. It was a smile that raised bile in the back of Dean’s throat and was the last thing Dean saw before he was forced backwards beneath the water’s surface.


	10. Chapter 10

When Sam opened his eyes he was standing in a church. Soft light spilled in through the stained glass windows to amend the flickering glow of lit candles. The slight disorientation of Castiel zapping him there quickly passed and Sam was able to focus on the people that filled the pews. Most were hunched over in prayer and hadn’t even noticed Castiel and him appearing before them.

“Is that Michael?” a boy asked.

There was wonderment on the young face that momentarily set Sam back. He’d come prepared to tear apart everyone inside these walls. As the people began to raise their heads with looks of shock and hushed whispers Sam realized they were mostly, if not all, humans. This couldn’t be the right St. Peter’s Church.

Sam turned to tell Castiel as much when a panicked man shouted from the back. “Lucifer has risen!”

Some of the people hurtled themselves from the pews, climbing blindly over others who had resumed their prayers with increased fervor. Sam didn’t have time for any of them. While this had to be the place, what he didn’t see was Dean. A moment later, he didn’t see Castiel either.

Quickly he turned in search of the angel who he found standing in the back corner. Sam ignored the mix of desperately mumbled warding prayers and condemning shouts as he shoved through the flustered crowd. The glimmer of hope he’d held was gone when he saw past Castiel.

Lisa lay on the floor with her mouth gagged, arms and legs bound. Blood soaked her shirt. It took a moment of careful watching before Sam could make out the uneven rise and fall of her chest.

Kneeling down beside her, Castiel put his hand against her. At the touch Lisa gasped sharply and jerked up. Her eyes flew open and she fought against the bindings until her eyes locked questioningly on Sam. When he crouched down and flipped out his knife, fear returned to her face. She began to struggle again, screaming against the gag.

“It’s okay.”

She remained unconvinced until he started to slice through the ropes. The moment her wrists were free she moved her hands to her stomach, pressing tentatively against it before reaching up to yank the gag free from her mouth.

“Sam? Oh my God. How...” Her hand returned to her bloody shirt. She pulled it up enough to see the crimson stained bandages. After a slight hesitation she pulled back the gauze. Whatever injury she was looking for wasn’t there. While Sam furrowed his brow, Lisa automatically looked to the angel. “You’re Castiel.”

Before Castiel could reply, Sam stepped in. His hands gripped Lisa’s shoulders. “Lisa, where’s Dean?”

As if everything hit her at once her hand came up to her mouth. “I don’t know.” She struggled to keep her tone steady, but it fell to a whisper when her eyes met Sam’s. “I don’t know if he’s even alive. They were drowning him...I tried to stop them…” With a glance down to her shirt she took in another quick gasp. “Where are the kids?”

“They’re at Bobby’s. They’re safe.”

“No. They’re not safe.” Lisa’s tone was desperate. “They're sending people after Mary. That’s why Dean was fighting them.”

Taking a deep breath she used the wall for support to get back to her feet. The look in her eyes was the same one Sam had seen in Dean’s when his brother had been trying to decide whether to get his children to safety or to find his wife.

“Castiel will get you back to Bobby’s and make sure everyone’s safe.”

The angel’s determined eyes settled on Sam. “There’s no time for that.”

“Just do it.” While all he wanted was to see his brother safe, if they saved Dean in place of his children, they’d end up losing Dean anyway. After a long moment of staring into Castiel’s eyes, the angel gave an understanding nod. “I’ll find Dean,” Sam assured Lisa. 

Before he could turn away she grabbed his arm. “They kept talking about a ritual and this book, but I don’t understand because they said they got it from Dean. I mean, what kind of book could he have? He doesn’t even read the newspaper.”

Sam knew there was no way Dean could read a newspaper without seeing cases. He also knew there was no way Dean had actually read that book. If anyone in the group could read it though they would have enough information to at least break open a devil’s gate. While he could hope that Dean and Bobby were wrong in thinking that the ritual could touch the cage, it didn’t matter. Whether or not it could, the people who had left Lisa to die beside them while they prayed for the end of the world wouldn’t hesitate in killing Dean to try.

His lips pressed into a grim line as Sam looked to Castiel. “Get back here fast.”

~~~

Ben sat at the kitchen table, his fingers idly tracing over the scratches in the wood. A much younger Dean's Swiss Army knife had put some of nicks into that table. Bobby tried not to think about it while he listened to the rickety chair squeak as Ben anxiously swung his legs. Somehow even Mary knew her parents were in trouble. Usually she was a big eater, but right now she stubbornly refused to down even one drop. Her tiny hands shoved the bottle away.

Suddenly the squeaking stopped. “Is Dad gonna be okay?”

If he wasn’t so knotted with worry, Bobby would have smiled. While the kid had been quick in taking to calling him Grandpa, he’d stubbornly resisted calling Dean by what he really was – Ben’s dad. Dean loved the kid, spent all his free time fussing over him and was willing to die for him. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with blood or a marriage certificate. Ben was family to the core.

But right now a smile was the furthest thing from Bobby’s lips. “Not once I get a hold of him,” Bobby growled. At Ben’s worried look Bobby took in a careful breath. “Your daddy’s gonna be just fine. He’s done stupider things and come out smelling like a rose.”

Ben’s face said the kid was thinking way too hard about something. “Uncle Sam says I should know how to shoot by now.” Ben warily glanced up from the table as he gauged Bobby’s reaction. “Why won’t Dad let me hunt?”

There was a can of worms that Bobby didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole on a good day and today was damn far from a good day. All the same, the answer was so plain that there was no reason to avoid it. “’Cause he loves you.”

“But he was a hunter and he saved people all the time and he needs my help to protect Mom and Mary, but he won’t even let me shoot a gun and that’s not even hard...”

When the kid finally had to stop for air, Bobby cut in. “And you know it ain’t hard because...?”

A sheepish look crossed Ben’s face. The boy knew damn well that his dad didn’t want him messing with weapons and had never said a word of complaint about it before. Bobby knew it was no coincidence this was coming up after Sam’s talk with Ben. Sam never had known when to leave well enough alone.

“Ben, there’s a few things you need to know about your Uncle Sam.”

Bobby didn’t have time to come up with proper wording before there was a thud at the front door. It wasn’t a knock, but the sound of a body colliding with wood. When Bobby jumped to attention, Ben hopped off his chair. Quickly Bobby passed Mary into Ben’s arms. She squealed in protest, but Ben held her firmly despite her wiggling.

“You get to the panic room.” Ben’s mouth opened to argue, but clamped shut when Bobby again spoke, “Get your sister somewhere safe.” 

As predictably as Dean, once the focus of the order shifted to protecting someone else, Ben was spurred into action. Bobby grabbed for the closest shotgun while Ben took off down the hall. Taking up position just out of sight of the front door, Bobby’s finger tensed on the trigger.

With a shattering crack the doorframe gave way. Bobby hesitated only long enough to verify that what walked through wasn’t Sam or Dean before he fired off the first shell. Anyone else deserved to get their asses shot just for busting his door.

Taking out the first two was like shooting ducks in a barrel, but there wasn’t just two. There was a damn swarm of them. Bobby scrambled for more shells and moved into sight to stop any of them from heading down the hall.

The shotgun was ripped from his grip before another shell could leave the barrel. Several men tackled him to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs. Two held him pinned to the floor while he struggled to catch his breath. Bobby’s eyes focused just in time to see the knife blade raised over him by a third man.

A gunshot sounded and the man fell limply on top of Bobby. The men holding him were startled long enough that Bobby could pull free from their grips and shove the body aside. When he looked up Bobby saw not Sam or Dean, but Ben standing with the Colt heavy in his hands. The boy was struggling to cock the stiff hammer back for another shot when Castiel appeared in the middle of the room.

“We sure could use that angelic assistance here!” Bobby shouted as he took a swing at the closest man. 

After the man in front of Bobby fell he got his first clear view to see that it was Lisa, not either of the boys standing beside Castiel. While her shirt was stained with blood she physically looked no worse for the wear. Shock spread across Lisa’s face as she took in the scene. 

“Mom!”

At Ben’s call Lisa ran to her son. Immediately she put herself between Ben and the closest threat. Ben tried to move past her to shoot the man rushing towards them, but Castiel intercepted. The man collapsed to the ground with a touch.

“Get to cover!” Bobby called out.

Lisa headed down the hall, pulling Ben along with her. After hearing the solid clang of the panic room’s door, Bobby focused back in on his own problems. He shot the shells he had loaded before switching to beating the men with the shotgun itself. When he looked over his shoulder to see what was taking that angel so damn long he saw Castiel standing within a small circle of fire.

Bobby smashed his elbow back into the face of the last man still standing. He wasn’t sure if the crack he heard was the man’s nose or Bobby’s own back trying to give out. His chest heaved as Bobby shook out his exhausted arms and shuffled back over to Castiel.

“I’m too damn old for this and don’t you be giving me that dirty look,” Bobby told the scowling angel. “I ain’t the one that opted for the fire in the middle of my living room.” When Castiel only stood still and continued glaring, Bobby looked back down to the short ring of flames. “Is that...?”

“Holy fire, yes. Apparently I have underestimated this group’s mystical prowess.”

“The news just keeps on getting better.” Bobby left Castiel just long enough to grab a bucket of water. At the oddly concerned look on Castiel’s face, Bobby’s gut tightened. “Where are the boys?”

With the fire out the, the angel was gone before an answer came. 

~~~

It didn’t take long for Sam to find where Dean was being held. While part of the people in the church had fled, others held their ground. Sam headed straight for the door they were guarding. If they’d thought they stood a chance at hand to hand combat against him, they were wrong. In a flurry of motion Sam beat through the men that blocked his way and threw open the door.

The first thing he saw at the base of the stairs was the flickering circle of fire that surrounded two men. It took him a moment longer to see the third man on his knees and another second to realize that man shoving the dagger into his own bare chest was his brother.

Sam ran forward, opened his mouth to cry out to Dean, but was grabbed from behind by the time he reached the bottom of the steps. A horde of hands gripped him, holding him back and forcing him only to watch. He was too shocked by the sight to even breathe. 

As Dean shoved the blade into himself a man in blood stained ceremonial attire stormed towards him. Unnoticing of the flames, the man strode through the ring of fire to rip the dagger from Dean’s chest. Dean’s head tilted back in a silent, agonized scream. The man’s hand latched onto and tightened around Dean’s throat.

“Betrayer!” the man spat in Dean’s face. “You will not corrupt what the Lord has set forth.”

“Touché, padre.”

Dean’s eyes were unfocused but seeped defiance as he coughed out the words. Fury raged over priest’s face, he pulled the dagger back to again drive it into Dean’s body. Before the priest could complete the strike, Sam broke free of the men that held him. He grabbed the priest’s reared back arm, jerking the man again through the flames and throwing him to the floor.

The priest’s alb was alight by the time Sam twisted the dagger from the man’s hands. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the other two men leap from the circle and his brother slump forward. Sam was hit with another emotion he hadn’t felt for years. Pure rage.

A trace of confusion flashed over the priest’s face as he met Sam’s eyes. ”You were reared on the blood of Azazel and have housed the fallen. You have no dominion here.” 

Every fiber of Sam’s being wanted to kill the man slowly, but he didn’t have the time to waste. Instead he simply drove the bloodied dagger into the man’s heart and shot a look to the others that hung by the door, daring any one of them to be next. No one answered the challenge.

Sam grabbed a large salad bowl from the closest buffet table, emptied the contents and filled it with water from the pool. While he ignored the flames consuming the priest, he splashed out the fire that burned around Dean. He skidded across the wet cement of the basement’s floor and dropped by Dean’s side.

“No...”

Dean’s entire body shivered uncontrollably. His skin was cold and wet. It was hard for Sam to touch him knowing that every contact could only bring more pain to the latticework of cuts over the bruises that covered his brother’s naked body. With a glance towards the priest, Sam hoped the man was still conscious enough to feel the flames.

Carefully he rolled Dean onto his side. When Dean coughed, dark blood spilled from his mouth. Quickly Sam shrugged out of his jacket and laid it gently over Dean’s shaking shoulders.

“Sam?” Dean parted his eyes, squinting against the overhead lights. His voice was a trembling whisper. “We gotta stop meeting like this.” Dean struggled to lift his head, his eyes scanning the room. “Where’s Lisa? Is she...”

“She’s fine, Dean.” Sam almost choked on the words as he tucked the jacket around his brother. His unsteady fingers unbuttoned his shirt, quickly pulling it off to press the rumpled fabric to the gushing wound on Dean’s chest. “Castiel took her back to Bobby’s.”

“Cas showed?” A ghost of a smile touched Dean’s blood coated lips. “Dick needs to work on his timing.”

Dean’s muscles continued to quake as his body began to slip into shock. Sam pulled him closer, cradling Dean against his bare chest to try to share his warmth. The moan that left Dean turned into another cough that left blood trickling down Dean's chin. 

“Everyone’s gonna be fine and Castiel’s coming back so just hang in there,” Sam said. 

“No problem.” Sam huddled over Dean to hear his softly spoken words. “Thanks for coming back, Sammy. I...”

While Dean didn’t have the energy to say it, he didn’t have to. Sam could see it in his brother’s exhausted eyes. “I know. Bobby told me everything. Me too, Dean. I’m not me without you.”

He had been so sure that he could live without Dean, but Dean had been right. There was a hell of a difference between surviving and living.

“You’ll be fine.” It had been a long time since Sam had felt panic, but Sam felt it now with the slackening of Dean’s muscles and the sight of the fight slipping from his brother’s eyes. “You were right. You’re stronger than me.”

Sam had thought so, had for a long time, and seeing Dean with his family had reinforced that. But he’d been wrong. Family gave Dean his strength, not weakened him. The only reason his brother was letting go now was because he thought everyone would be okay without him. He was wrong

“No, Dean. I’m not. And Ben...”

Before Sam could get out the words Dean’s head lolled limply against Sam’s chest. His breaths sounded wet, like the shallow inhales were pulling more blood than air into his lungs. A moment later the uneven breaths fell silent.

“Dean?”

Pain clutched Sam’s chest so hard that it felt as if his heart too had stopped. Since Sam had dived into the cage he hadn’t felt the sting of a single tear, not so much as a hitched breath. He never thought he’d feel enough to cry again, but the tears spilled over his cheeks as he gripped Dean’s body against him.

“Sam.”

At the calmly spoken tone, Sam slowly pulled his head up from where it was buried against Dean’s hair. He looked down to Dean who remained still in his arms before glancing up to see Castiel standing over him.

Sympathy spilled from the angel’s usually detached eyes. Castiel crouched across from him and held out his arms. They didn’t need to exchange words for Sam to know that Castiel wanted to take Dean from him. Sam shook his head and the angel gave a subtle nod before his hand reached out to touch Sam’s forehead. 

In a flash the main floor of the church replaced the basement around them. People milled around the pews in confusion. Their panicked arguments slowly gave way to confused murmurs as everyone looked up to see Castiel standing over him and Dean in front of the altar. Sam too raised his uncertain eyes to the angel. The last place he wanted to be was in front of these people. 

“Father Reed did not speak for heaven.”

As Castiel’s words addressed the assembled crowd, the angel leaned over Dean. When the angel’s fingers pressed against Dean’s head the gashes and bruises that had littered Dean’s skin vanished. By the time Sam recovered from his shock, Dean was again drawing air into his lungs.

Dean blindly fought Sam’s grip. While Sam's instinct was to tighten his hold on his brother, he realized that Dean was only aware that he was being pinned, not who was holding him. “Hey, Dean, it’s okay.” 

“Sammy?" Dean's eyes fluttered open. "What the...” 

His brother startled upright in Sam’s arms. When the jacket fell from Dean's shoulders, Sam repositioned it over Dean's lap. Dean was obviously disoriented and just looked confused by the action until his eyes fell on the parishioners gawking at them. With Dean again breathing beside him, Sam found it hard to care that they were there.

In disbelief, he ran his hand over the now unmarred skin of Dean’s back. His brother jerked at the touch and slapped his hand away. “Dude! I ain’t that happy to see you.”

With a shallow chuckle and a shake of his head, Sam glanced up to Castiel. Suddenly Lisa’s lack of injury registered. Apparently since Sam had taken his jump Castiel had gotten his angelic powers back and then some.

When he looked back to the crowd a boy with eyes nearly as blue as Mary’s stood at the bottom of the steps. The pale kid tilted his head as he looked at Dean, then to Castiel. “Is that an angel?”

“Yeah, he is,” Dean said. “But you can trust this one.”

It seemed to mean something to the boy. The nervous kid disappeared back into the crowd only to reappear a moment later with a folded pile of clothes that was obviously Dean’s. The boy crept up the steps and stopped just within arms reach of Dean before holding the clothes out to him.

The kid’s bottom lip trembled as Dean took the clothes. “I-I didn't know...”

“Hey, not your fault. The cookies were awesome.” Dean gave the kid a tired, but sincere smile. “Just don’t trust humans either, okay?”

The kid gave a little nod before dashing back down the steps. While Dean's eyes were locked on the kid, Sam couldn't take his eyes off his brother. Dean's movements were exhausted, but anxious as he slipped on his shirt and flannel.

Still sitting with Sam's jacket over his lap, Dean looked up to Castiel. “How about getting my undead, naked ass somewhere a little more private?”


	11. Chapter 11

After a dressing room layover on some deserted island that Castiel had deemed private, the angel dropped them back at Bobby’s. Dean’s brow creased as he took in the trashed living room. While there were no bodies, all the other signs of a fight were still there from the out of place furniture to the scattered papers that littered the floor. The unsettled feeling in Dean’s gut reared back up at the proof that the bastards had made it this far.

Dean forced a smirk when he turned to see Bobby staring at them. “Hey, Bobby. I see you got the number for my interior decorator.”

In a few quick strides Bobby closed in on Dean. After giving Dean a quick look over Bobby pulled him into his arms. In that instant it hit Dean that he really was still here. There was still a chance to make this work. Tightly he gripped Bobby back until the older man pulled away.

A flash of anger flared over Bobby’s eyes. With a growl Bobby gripped the front of Dean’s shirt. “You ever pull a stunt like that again...”

“What?” Dean gave a dismissive glance to Bobby’s fist. “You’ll kill me?”

Slowly Bobby’s fingers released Dean’s t-shirt. “I oughta just on principal.”

“Get in line. We’re back to taking numbers on that.”

Bobby shook his head and patted his hand over Dean’s chest. “Boy, when you gonna learn that you’re more than a body to be sacrificed?” 

There wasn’t anything Dean could say that Bobby would want to hear. It wasn’t as if he got off on playing the sacrificial lamb, but he wasn’t ever going to play it safe when his family was on the line. Avoiding it entirely, Dean looked back to Castiel.

“Thanks for popping down to save my ass...again.” Castiel’s face was lined with dissatisfaction. While Dean didn’t expect the angel to be jumping for joy, he’d expected something a little less grim. “Cas, for the record, that’s a good thing.”

“Agreed. I only apologize it wasn’t soon enough to spare your suffering.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and waved Castiel off. “No problem. I always say any death you can walk away from is a good one. Right, Sammy?”

His brother pulled his eyes up from the floor, his expression looking even gloomier than the damn pouting angel. “Yeah. Sure, Dean.”

“Is anyone glad I’m alive?” While it was mostly a joke, he wasn’t too sure with all the long faces. “Where the hell is everyone anyway?”

“They’re upstairs.” Bobby looked between Castiel and Sam before narrowing his eyes on Dean. “Just how bad did it get?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s better now.”

Even his face fell when he really thought about the people they’d left behind. Sam had told him that he’d smoked Father Reed, but there were a lot of confused kids there with parents that had been counting on today being the apocalypse.

“Except, now we got a bunch of half crazed fanatics a whacko short of a Jonestown.”

“I will attend to the congregation and the text,” Castiel said and apparently the angel meant right now because in the next instant he was gone.

“Yeah, okay, but no smiting the kids!” Dean called after him.

The pounding of footsteps upstairs immediately followed Dean’s shout. “Dad!”

Ben flew around the corner and down the steps so fast he skidded at the bottom. Dean grunted as his son practically plowed him over before throwing his arms around him. 

“Ben, be careful with him,” Lisa said.

Her voice was worried as she came down the stairs, but the blood was gone and her vibrancy had returned. She held Mary safely tucked against her. A look of shocked relief spread over her face as she met his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Dean assured her.

For the first time everything was okay yet Lisa obviously didn’t believe it. Even after she looked him over her free hand tugged up his shirt enough to glimpse the unbroken skin beneath it. Gently her hand roamed over his healed ribs.

Wanting to distract her from what had been, Dean took her hand into his own and gave it a squeeze. “Save it until we get a room.”

She shook her head. “You’re really okay?”

“Yeah.” A genuine smile spilled over Dean’s lips. “I’m really okay.”

Her arm wrapped tightly around him. He returned the hug with one arm while the other went back around Ben and he placed a kiss on the head of his baby girl. When he opened his eyes he saw his brother standing awkwardly by with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Sam, get your ass over here.”

“What?”

“I’m handing out hugs, get them while they’re hot.” Sam probably would’ve looked less shocked if Dean had been trying to stab himself in the heart again. “Seriously, dude. Don’t make me come over there.”

While Sam just looked confused as hell, he did come over. Dean stepped out of the arms of part of his family into the arms of the other. At first Sam’s hold was tentative before it became so strong Dean had to fight for air, but he wasn’t about to complain.

He was holding his brother. Overwhelmed didn’t begin to cover it. Dean blinked back the moisture in his eyes as he patted Sam’s back. When Sam pulled back far enough for Dean to see him, his jaw was clenched. At least his brother was too choked up to comment. Otherwise Dean might have to admit that Lisa had taught him that chick flick moments rocked, on occasion.

Sam wrinkled his nose as he took in a heavy whiff of the air. “I know. I smell like sleazy priest,” Dean said. “I’m gonna hit the shower.”

While whatever the priest had rubbed on him did reek something fierce, it was more of an issue that there was an imminent risk of him losing his remaining speck of manliness if he didn’t haul ass to a more private setting. After a sending a quick smile to his family he headed up the stairs and into the bathroom where the clean clothes Bobby had set out last night still laid on the counter. 

Dean had been damn near to a hundred percent sure that he wasn’t coming back. Last time he’d been standing in here he’d been almost as sure that his wife was dead, that his baby would be next and his brother was lost forever. He was okay with not always being right.

Castiel had even assured him that his demonic omens were nothing but a nasty low-pressure system moving through. Whether or not Dean could let himself believe that, he supposed if anyone could forecast the weather it was an angel.

When Dean finished in the shower and left the bedroom the smell of pancakes on the griddle was wafting up the stairs. He’d thought he was too tired to eat, but his stomach had other ideas and rumbled to life. It kicked into high gear as he walked close enough to the kitchen to hear the sizzling of bacon grease. 

From the doorway he saw Bobby over the stove flipping pancakes while Ben was excitedly talking to Sam. Dean grinned at the overwhelmed, but engaged expression on his brother’s face and the sound of his wife laughing.

He moved in to kiss Lisa’s smiling lips and slip Mary from her arms into his. “What’d I miss?”

“Ben wants to learn to shoot,” Lisa said. “That’s okay isn’t it?”

Dean waited for the punch line that didn’t come. His wicked wife just took a seat at the table and looked innocently up at him. She was supposed to be his excuse for why Ben couldn’t handle a gun. When she’d freaked out about the Colt he’d thought for sure they were on the same side with that one.

“Sure,” Dean replied as he took the seat beside her. “Over my permanently dead body.”

Ben gave an indignant sigh and looked desperately between Sam and Lisa before his pleadingly eyes keyed in on Dean. “Come on, I totally saved Grandpa Bobby’s ass…butt,” Ben quickly corrected when Dean cleared his throat.

Turning away from the stove, Bobby dished the first batch of pancakes onto the plate in front of Dean. “You know, the kid is a natural. It really ain’t a bad idea.”

“You’re right. It’s not a bad idea.” Dean rested Mary on his knee before shooting Bobby a glare. “It’s a horrible idea.”

Dean grabbed a fork and scooped up one of the pancakes from his plate to toss onto Ben’s before he passed one each onto Lisa and Sam’s plates. While Sam’s eyes fixed on him Dean worked on drowning his remaining pancake in a lake of syrup.

“We’re not talking about shooting monsters,” Sam said. “Just bottles and clay pigeons.”

After shoving a mouthful of pancake into his mouth, Dean jabbed his fork at Sam. “Keep talking about it and I’m gonna shoot you. Once you start shooting skeets...”

“Dean, skeet shooting isn’t a gateway drug,” Lisa offered. “It’d be the perfect hobby for you two.”

Bobby piled another stack of pancakes onto Dean’s plate. As stubborn as he was, Dean knew when he was hopelessly out numbered. He also wasn’t all that sure he was right. Someday Cas wasn’t going to show or Ben would pull a Jo and decide he was going to take up hunting just on account that Dean told him not to.

“It’d be a good hobby for the three of us,” Dean corrected with a smile towards his brother. Dean pulled his giggling baby girl closer to his chest. “You’re gonna have to wait a few years, sweetheart.”

Sam pushed away his plate and ran a hand through his hair before meeting Dean’s eyes. “Dean...you get that I can’t stay.”

“Don’t give me that crap. If the major leagues come aground again, we’ll deal with it. Until then it won’t kill you to take some time to be with your family.”

“It’s not my family.”

“Wasn’t mine either. Now they are, and so are you, so put on your big kid panties and suck it up.” Dean lifted Mary and held her out to his brother. With a beaming grin Mary reached for Sam. “It’s purely mercenary anyway. I need someone who knows geometry and I can’t afford a freakin’ tutor.” At Ben’s look Dean shot his son a wink.

When Sam gingerly accepted Mary into his arms there was no trace of the blankness Dean had earlier seen in Sam’s eyes. While it was impossible to pin down the mix of emotions there now, in it Dean saw his brother. Not some screwed up shadow of who Sam used to be, but his Sammy.

His brother wasn’t locked in some cage in the pit. He was sitting at Bobby’s table with Dean’s wife and his son, holding his daughter. Even if it was only for this moment, Dean knew for a fact that heaven couldn’t hold a candle to that.


End file.
